


Just Breathe

by Professor_Maka



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-16 21:09:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 42,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1361890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Professor_Maka/pseuds/Professor_Maka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because friendship, partnership, and love are rarely smooth, but always worth it. This is a collection of stories for SoMa week 2014.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Roommates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Maka wakes up alone in her apartment, will the odd little puppy scratching at her door be able to help her find her missing partner?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to moonplata for inspiring me with her adorable Puppy!Soul drawings, and ilarual for reading this beast first.

 

           

       Something was scratching at her door.  At least, that’s what it sounded like.  No, something was most definitely scratching at her door.  And whining pitiably.  It almost sounded like a dog, which was impossible since they’d never actually owned a dog; it would have been a mess with Blair around.

       Maybe it was Blair?  But no, her roommate would have just transformed and opened the door.  It was something that didn’t belong, clearly.  She wondered if it had woken either of her roommates.

       “Blair?” she called out quietly, but there was no answer.

       “Soul?”  she said more loudly.  The scratching stopped for the barest instant, the whining cut off, and then suddenly intensified, becoming almost frantic.  She supposed she should just open the door and see what the heck was going on since no answer seemed otherwise forthcoming.  Throwing off her covers with an annoyed huff at having been awoken at three in the bloody morning, Maka stormed over to the door and flung it open, looking down only to find…  the cutest little puppy she had ever seen, really.  It had a soft, fluffy white coat and floppy little ears and the cutest little tail that curled up.  Maka immediately dropped to a squat to scoop up the poor little thing, who immediately stopped whining to snuggle close to her chest and wriggle up to lick her face.  She couldn’t help but to be struck by its eyes, as red as her partner’s, though she doubted he would much appreciate the comparison.

       “Awwww—you are sweet, aren’t you?  You were just lonely, I think, making all that racket, weren’t you?  It’s okay now, little guy.  Wait—you are a guy, right?”  She held him out for a moment, carefully inspecting the dog’s nether regions as it squirmed and actually growled.

       “Okay, okay, I’m done,” she said placatingly, a bit mystified that a puppy actually seemed to care.  “But you’re definitely a boy.  Now to figure out where you came from, eh?  If Soul brought you home without even asking, I swear to Death I’m going to—“   The thing barked again, becoming increasingly agitated as she spoke.

       “Shhhh—it’s alright, puppy, I wasn’t mad at you, okay?  Let’s just see who’s home.”   She set the puppy down for a minute and strode over to Soul’s door, but it was open and he clearly wasn’t in his room, though the bedding was rumpled and the space itself was strewn with a typical amount of boy-clutter.  The puppy followed close at her heels, whining for attention, but Maka was too angry to mind it just then.  Maybe she was overreacting.  Maybe he was in the bathroom or something.

       “Soul?”  She called out loudly, but only silence and an increasingly agitated white puppy greeted her in reply, the little dog’s whines becoming loud and pitiful once more.  Stalking to the bathroom, she found it as empty as Soul’s bedroom, and a quick perusal of the rest of the apartment still revealed neither Blair nor Soul.  Blair was probably working late, no shock there, but Soul should be home.  Well—maybe he couldn’t sleep and had taken one of his late night rides...

       “That still doesn’t explain you, though.” She bent down to pet the distraught puppy with a sigh.  “Guess I should try to call him, huh little guy?”  The dog only whimpered again as Maka made for her bedroom to grab her cell, calling her weapon.  The phone began to ring, and after a time, went to his voicemail.

       “This is Soul, you know the drill,” his bored voice intoned through her phone speaker.

       “The drill is going to be a chop to the head if you don’t pick up.  Where the hell are you?” She hung up with an exasperated sigh, no longer paying attention to the little dog that had bolted under her bed at her show of anger.

       She pushed redial, and the phone began to ring again.  And that’s when she noticed the music.

       “Huh?” she shook her head, walking out of her room to find the source even as she kept her phone ringing Soul’s.  By the time she got his voicemail again, the music had stopped.  Why wasn’t he picking up?  He _always_ picked up when she called.  Frustrated and more than a bit concerned, she pushed redial yet again, and suddenly, the music began anew and she realized it was coming from her weapon’s bedroom.  Slowly, cautiously, she made her way there, allowing the phone to keep ringing.  As she went inside, she heard the song more clearly.  It wasn’t his normal ringtone of some sort of jazz tune she couldn’t name, but rather, a rock song.

       “She’s my baby, she’s my baby, yeah it’s alright,” the gruff voice sang out amidst guitars and drums.  She clicked to hang up and the music cut off.  She called again and it started anew.  “She’s got legs, she knows how to use them.  She never begs, she knows how to choose them,” the voice sang out again to its rock accompaniment.  She found the source on the desk:  Soul’s smartphone, a picture of herself she didn’t remember him taking smiling back at her, her name emblazoned across the top.  So this was his ringtone for her.  Weird.  But more importantly, the idiot had forgotten his damned phone.

       “Ugh, BAKA!”

       The puppy, who she had failed to notice had crept into the room behind her, whimpered at this and retreated once more to parts unknown, running from the room.  Well, just as well, she needed to figure out where Soul was.  Hopefully, he was out for a drive and had forgotten his phone like the idiot he was, but she was getting more and more worried, the nagging feeling that something was terribly _wrong_ refusing to leave her.  Part of the problem, she suddenly realized, was that according to their soul bond, he felt close, yet he was nowhere.  She shook her head, puzzled, and decided it was high time she tried using her soul perception.  If he really was close, she should find him easily enough.

       Reaching out with her perception, Maka sensed him quickly.  The comforting presence of his soul was near, yet something was off.  He was agitated and confused, and his soul somehow felt _wrong_ , like it was bound too tight, a wide foot crammed into a narrow shoe.  She didn’t _get_ it, really, but at least he was close and, seemingly, safe, so she moved to where he was, which turned out to be her room.  What the hell?  She pushed her door open wide and saw nothing, yet his soul was definitely here.  Ah, under the bed, that’s where she sensed it.  What in Shinigama’s name he was doing there, of all places, she had no clue—but it was definitely chop worthy to scare her like this for no rea—

       Her thoughts were instantly cut short as his soul moved out from hiding to stand before her, only what she saw wasn’t the white haired teen she expected, or even the scythe, but the same little white puppy who had awoken her so abruptly a scant twenty minutes ago.

       She peered down at the little dog skeptically.  “S…soul?” she asked, confusion etched in her furrowed brow and downturned mouth.  The puppy wagged its tail enthusiastically and as she bent down to scoop him up into her arms once more, she realized that the reason this puppy had felt so familiar to her was because he was familiar.  Past every bound of reason, she was now holding her weapon in her arms, his soul reaching out for hers, warm and right.   She shook her head, stunned, confused.

       “What happened?  How did this—how are you...?”  The dog whimpered in reply.  “We’ll figure this out, okay?  I don’t know what happened, who did this to you, but we’re going to figure this out, don’t worry.”   She hugged him close, pet his soft, fluffy fur, smiled as he wagged his tail hopefully.  They really would figure this out—they had to.

 

 

       After a scant moment’s deliberation, she bundled him up and took him to Stein.  She didn’t know what else to do, where else to go.  Clearly, some sort of magic was at work, but what the spell was, who had cast it and why, she had no clue.  Getting to Stein’s laboratory had been a chore—she had no choice but to take Soul’s bike, grabbing the keys up, bundling the puppy—Soul, it was Soul, she had to remember that—and cleaning out one of the saddlebags to ensconce the little bundle of fur inside, apologizing profusely to her weapon all the while.  As he licked her hand and wagged his tail once he was settled, she figured he must not much mind and tried to banish from her mind for the moment that the dog who had been licking her hand and her face this past half hour was actually her partner.

       It took them longer to get there than it should have.  Soul had taught her to drive his motorcycle in case of emergency, but she had only done it under his tutelage, and then only twice.  Now she had to do it alone and she was hesitant and unsure at the same time she just wanted to get there and figure this out.  After a good half hour, she finally pulled up to the stitched up lab on the outskirts of town and brought the bike to a stuttering halt, painfully aware of how loud it was in the still night.  When Stein strode out as she had just finished setting the kickstand and was gingerly picking her partner up out of the saddlebag, she was less surprised than sheepish.  She had woken him, and for that she was sorry, but she really had no choice.  They needed help—now.

       Stein being Stein, he looked neither angry nor pleased, but bored.

       “Rough night?”  He asked, looking at Maka and adjusting the screw in his head.

       “You could say that.  We—um—need help, and I didn’t know where else—“

       “It’s fine, Maka, come in.  You can bring the puppy too, if you must, but I can’t promise I won’t dissect it.”

       “It’s Soul,” she said, clutching him tighter as he whimpered at the professor’s words.  Stein just looked at the little dog for a moment and nodded once curtly.

       “So it is.  Well, don’t just stand there, get inside.  It looks like we have work to do.”  The professor adjusted his head screw idly as Maka hurried past and into the lab, hoping Stein wouldn’t push for dissection (not that she would allow it, but she’d rather not have to force that issue when all she really wanted was her partner back).  He followed her in, the door closing behind them with a soft click as they walked into the living room.

       “You can sit with him on the couch for now—I’ll need to get a few things.  And then you can tell me exactly what happened while I examine him.”  Without waiting for an answer, Stein strode off into another room, one Maka recognized from past experience as his lab, and Maka let herself fall to the couch heavily, clutching Soul to her stomach.  He whimpered a bit in her arms, and she pet his soft fur soothingly.

       “Shhh… it’s okay.  I know this is confusing.  We’ll figure it out, I promise.”  The little dog just nuzzled her hand in response and then squirmed to get comfortable in her lap.

It was the oddest thing, really.  His soul felt so familiar—like Soul—yet foreign, too.  It was Soul but not Soul, both her partner and something far simpler.  She was tempted to resonate, to see if she could connect with his mind, maybe talk to him that way, but thought better of it—without more information, it could be dangerous.  Best to wait for Stein.

       “I wonder what type of dog you are, anyway?” she looked at him speculatively as she stroked his fur.  “Probably a mutt,” she laughed, though it was nervous, half-hearted.

       “Kuvasz,” Stein said as he returned with various instruments laid out on a tray (none of them looked sharp, thank Death!) that he set down on the couch near Maka.

       “What?”

       “He’s a kuvasz puppy.  It’s clear from his build, the set of the ears, and the shape of the tail.”  As he said this, he snatched his rolling chair from a corner and wheeled over.  Grabbing something that looked like a cross between a telescope and a sextant off the tray, he looked through it, examining Soul closely for a moment as he squirmed in Maka’s arms.

       “Set him on the cushion next to you, if you will.”

Maka complied with only slight hesitation, setting the puppy down while keeping a firm hand on him to still him since he clearly meant to leap right back into her lap.

       “Shhh, Soul,” she soothed.  “Professor Stein is just going to look, he’s not going to hurt you, I’ll make sure, okay?  Just—stay still.”   The puppy let out a little whimper but complied, and after petting him a few more times, she removed her hand so Stein could get a better look.  As he continued to look through the whatever it was, he addressed Maka again.

       “So, how did this happen, exactly?”

       “I—I don’t know,” she admitted, agitated.  “I woke up to scratching on my door and I found, well, this puppy.  And when I went to find Soul to find out where the puppy came from, he was gone.  I tried to call him, and then I used soul perception, and that’s when I realized,” she shook her head, still stunned.

       “Yes, it is clearly his soul, however—altered to fit this new vessel.  But you don’t know how it happened.  That will present a problem, but there are ways.  Well, then.”  He picked up another instrument and began to use it to take some measurements.  He was writing things on a little notepad periodically as he looked, poked, and prodded at the little puppy with various tools.  Soul, for his part, whimpered occasionally, but stayed still, for which Maka was grateful.   Finally, after many minutes, Stein put down his instrument and, adjusting his screw again, turned to Maka.  The puppy, seeming to sense his torment was over, quickly returned to Maka’s lap, and she snuggled him, sending his need for comfort.

       “Well, then.  It’s clearly a magical transformation.  I can’t tell the origin, but the soul condition and vessel suggest as much.  It should be reversible if we can figure out what spell was used, but we will need the cooperation of a witch.  Kim should suffice.  Without knowing the spell used, however, it may be a permanent condition, or it may be temporary in the casting, in which case, he will revert to his base form when the conditions or time constraints have been met.”  He turned the screw again, looking thoughtful.  “It is difficult to say, really.   I might be able to figure out more through dissection, though—“  He looked at Soul with a wicked gleam shining on his glasses and Maka shuddered as Soul whimpered and curled deeper into her stomach.

       “No, I think—I think we can figure it out another way.  Can he understand us?  Maybe he could help.  Maybe I could resonate with him, try to talk to him that way.”

       Stein shook his head.

       “It is unlikely you will be able to resonate with him in this state.  His soul is severely constrained, and consequently, under great pressure.  An attempt to resonate, if it is even possible, which I doubt, could kill him.  In this form, he would not be able to withstand the amplification effect.  As to what he understands—these spells usually leave some memory intact, but his understanding is still, currently, that of an animal.  Given that he clearly cannot speak, the spell seems to be of a type that renders him an animal completely.  As such, his ability to both deal with receptive language as well as to communicate will be very limited.”

       “So he—remembers things, but he won’t understand them the same way.  And he—he—can only communicate and understand what a dog would.”

       “Precisely.”

       “Will he—when he changes back—remember any of this?”

       “Hard to say,” Stein adjusted his glasses, looking at Soul, then Maka, speculatively.  “Likely, not.  The soul is busy just trying to exist in this form, thus his experiences are unlikely to remain imprinted with a body shift, but that isn’t to say it’s impossible.”

       “And—and what about his weapon form?  Can he?”

       “No, absolutely not.  The form has altered.  He will be unable to transform into the scythe until he resumes his natural human form.

       Maka swallowed, hard.  “I—understand.  So what—do we do now?”

       “For now, I suggest you get some rest.  Feel free to use the guest room—you know where it is.  In the morning, I’ll see if any of the data I took is helpful, and I will accompany you to your apartment to see if we can’t figure out how this happened.  Don’t worry about school for now--I’m going to update Lord Death in the morning.”

       Maka nodded.  The least of her worries right now was Kid—she knew her friend would be the first to be sure they had whatever time they needed.  She just wish she knew more, could do more; she felt helpless and afraid.  What if they couldn’t change him back?  What then?

       She shook away the thought.  They had to change him back, that wasn’t even a matter of question.  They would do it.  They would.

       “Thank you, professor,” she replied softly and, getting up from her place on the couch, Soul in her arms, made her way to the guest room.  There was a time when she would have feared staying here, but Marie’s presence had changed all of that, and sadistic as he was, even Stein wouldn’t touch them without permission with Marie around.  Maka was only glad they had not awakened the demon hammer, who, so far into her pregnancy, was in need of as much rest as she could get.

       Pushing open the door to the guest room, she closed it behind her with a soft click.  In a daze, she removed Soul’s leather jacket and her boots that she had haphazardly thrown on over her pajamas, finally curling up on the bed with the soft little ball of fur that was now Soul.  It was not long before she fell asleep, too emotionally spent even for tears.

 

       The following morning, Marie insisted on making Maka and Soul breakfast before heading out with Stein, and Maka marveled at how cute her partner was as he ate scraps of bacon and egg from her plate, wagging his tail eagerly.  Marie laughed and cooed over how cute the puppy was, even while she comforted Maka and assured her that he would be back to normal in no time.  As they left the lab, Maka felt cautiously hopeful.

       Of course, it didn’t last.  Their search of the apartment yielded nothing.  Soul’s room was typically messy—his pajamas in a heap on his unmade bed, obviously burrowed through by the puppy, a discarded chocolate bar wrapper and glass on his nightstand, his clothes from the day he’d transformed discarded haphazardly on the floor.  The deathscythe never let his room get truly bad, but he was just as happy to throw his clothes on the floor and pick them up later, especially when he was tired.

Stein took a few samples from the bed and door and floor, saying he would analyze everything after school and get back to her, but there were no clear answers and Maka had no idea what to do with herself or her partner.  For his part, the puppy wanted to be near her constantly, and he whimpered at the door if she left him even for a few moments to use the bathroom.

        It was so strange that this needy puppy was her Soul, and yet, when she felt for their connection, strange and strained as it was with his soul so compacted, it was undeniably him.  For several hours after Stein left, she simply held him on her lap, turning on some of his favorite music in an attempt to sooth him, petting him absently.  He sought her affection eagerly as a puppy which hardly surprised her—Soul had become more affectionate over time in his human form, and they often cuddled on the couch together or held hands these days.  They were best friends and partners, after all, and such closeness was good for their resonance; that Maka thoroughly enjoyed being close to her partner was beside the point.  That he seemed to enjoy being close to her was also beside the point, especially since it was purely platonic, at least on his end.  For her part, she preferred not to think about those other feelings that bubbled within her at the very thought of him, feelings that she feared, feelings that seemed doomed to remain unrequited regardless since he had long since made it clear that she had all the physical appeal of a toadstool.  Less, maybe.  She was too worried about him to worry about that right now, however, and after several hours of couch sitting, as the puppy started to get antsy, she decided they could probably both use some fresh air.

       Grabbing a coat, she scooped up Soul and headed for the door, the puppy wriggling excitedly in her arms.

       “Settle down, Soul! Yes, we’re going for a walk, but you need to calm down--I’m going to drop you if you don’t stop wiggling around so much!”  She giggled slightly as the puppy stilled, moving up to lick her face.  “Gross, Soul!” she shook her head, but she was still giggling.  He was so adorable this way it was hard to really get mad at him.  Plus, as Stein had explained to her, he really _was_ a puppy, even if he was Soul, too.

       Settling him more securely in her arms, Maka closed their front door behind her and proceeded down the stairs.  When she got to the bottom floor and made her way out the complex door, she looked around with a frown.  It was midday and relatively quiet, only a few cars and people passing.  It felt strange, to be here when she should be in school, but Stein had insisted that they at least take today and she had reluctantly agreed.  After all, she wasn’t sure she could take Soul to school this way and what would she do with him if she went alone?

       Soul wriggled in her arms, eager for freedom, and she decided to set him down.  She didn’t have a leash nor would she have been able to bring herself to leash her partner if she had, but she hoped he was enough himself to at least stay close and avoid traffic.  Fortunately, he did keep to the sidewalk and ran only slightly ahead, bounding around in energetic circles so unlike her partner that she was struck again by just how much of a _puppy_ he really was.  It was adorable though, so she bent down to pet him for a moment and laughed as he licked her hand before bounding away playfully.  He stopped periodically to relieve himself on a tree or fire hydrant and Maka looked away, embarrassed at the idea of watching her partner urinate, at the very notion that he had been reduced to this.  Eventually, they came up to a little girl rolling a ball around on her front step and when the child tried to call the puppy to her, the dog looked up at Maka, tilting his head skeptically in such a Soul-esque way that she had to smile at how odd it looked on the adorable white fur ball even as she wanted to cry.

       “Go ahead and humor her, Soul,” Maka offered.  The puppy wagged his tail twice, then approached the girl cautiously, who started to pet him.  Unsurprisingly given her partner’s reserved disposition, the girl’s attentions didn’t gain the enthusiasm that her own would, but when the white fluffball seemed indifferent, the little girl threw her ball down the sidewalk instead, and Soul took off after it immediately, barking happily.  Retrieving the ball, the puppy ran not to the girl, but to Maka, dropping the ball at her feet and wagging his tail enthusiastically as he peered up at her expectantly.  Soul wanted—to play fetch?  Well…  Maka looked to the ball, then the girl, who grinned back at her.

       “Throw it again, he likes it!”

       “Um, okay, I guess…”  She picked up the slobbery tennis ball and tossed it down the sidewalk.  Soul shot after it in a white streak, scooping it up into his little mouth and bounding back over proudly to drop the ball at her feet again.  More expectant tail wagging followed, so Maka threw it again and yet again, repeating the process several times, the little puppy retrieving it eagerly.  This felt so wrong, treating her partner like a dog, yet he wanted her to throw it, and seemed so happy, and was so cute while he played fetch, that she couldn’t help but to comply, and the game lasted several minutes until the little girl’s mother called her away.  She insisted they keep the tennis ball, however, since the puppy liked it so much, so Maka gingerly picked up the slobbery thing and put it in the messenger bag she had brought along, much to the puppy’s distress.  As she tried to soothe him, promising they would play more fetch later, he barked once enthusiastically before shooting away again, circling around her and wagging his tail to indicate he was ready to continue the walk.  Maka started moving again, figuring they could go a little way further, maybe even pick up lunch and sit in the park awhile before heading home.  Watching Soul bound about so playfully, she had to smile.  He was clearly more puppy than anything right now, but looking at his soul, he seemed genuinely happy as he so rarely did, and she shook her head.  He was such a dork.  Leave it to Soul to be happier as a puppy than a person.  Yet, she knew it was false—it was the sheer instinctual physical elation of an animal at play, not her partner, not really.

       As they reached the corner, the meister decided to duck into a little sandwich shop, scooping up Soul and placing him into the messenger bag, head peaking out so cutely that he got several awwwws, as she ordered a BLT and chips for herself, and a side of roast beef to feed to Soul (she would not feed her partner dog food, even if he was a dog.)  She made her way out of the shop with their lunch in one hand and Soul in the other, hurrying to the park to claim a shady spot beneath a tree.  It was a warm spring afternoon, only partly cloudy, and Maka might have enjoyed the day if the circumstances had been otherwise.  As it was, she set the container of roast beef before Soul and watched as he tore through it quickly, tail wagging in contentment, before bounding off to run through the grass.  She got out her own sandwich, chips, and soda, chewing on the BLT contemplatively as she watched the puppy play, never quite venturing out of her sight.  He appeared to be chasing a butterfly, and she saw several people smile at the sight as they passed.  She smiled as well, but it was strained.  Her worry was still tight within her, coiling in her chest.  She wanted answers, wanted her Soul back, and she hoped it would not take long.

       After leaping about for awhile, Soul returned to curl up next to her, wagging his tail happily as she pet him softly.  They lingered for perhaps an hour before she cleaned up, finding a trash can for their waste and letting the puppy walk in front of her as they made their way out of the park.

       “We’re going home and we’ll have to cross a few streets, so stay close,” she said firmly.  Soul barked, once, and she took that for some form of understanding, because he slowed to stay next to her, trotting happily.

       Before long, they came once more to the apartment, only to find Blair had finally returned.  She was looking through drawers in the kitchen almost frantically, and as she heard the front door close behind Maka, she strode up purposefully.

       “Oh, Maka-chan, good!  You’re home!”  If the cat woman noticed the puppy she didn’t mention it.  “Have you see Bu-tan’s candy bar?  I left it on the kitchen counter, but it’s gone, and I need it for—“

       “Candy bar?  No, sorry.”

       “Are you sure?  It was a Reese’s.  Maybe you threw it out by accident.  I know you hate it when Soul-kun eats too much candy, and—“

       Maka shook her head, then frowned.  “Actually, Soul had a Reese’s wrapper on his nightstand, maybe—“

       Blair looked suddenly horrified.

       “You think—you think scythe boy ate it?”

       “Um, probably, yeah.  But um—“

       “Where is he?  Do you know?  Is he—“

       The puppy made its presence known by barking before Maka could answer, and Blair finally seemed to notice the little dog.

       “He’s right here,” Maka said flatly.  “Something happened last night, we’re still not sure what, and—“

       “Oh no!” Blair gasped, taking one step back, then another.  Maka narrowed her eyes.  “Bu-tan is so so sorry! I forgot the candy bar on the counter before I left, and I never thought Soul-kun would—“

       “Blair,” Maka’s voice was dangerous.  “WHAT DID YOU DO?”

       The dog whimpered, cowering at her tone, and Blair took another nervous step backwards.

       “I—it’s—it’s all Bu-tan’s fault!  But—I never meant—one of the girls at work, this guy kept coming in.  He was such an abusive asshole!  And Bu-tan was trying to help, so she made—she found a spell—and—it was in the candy—and—I’M SO SORRY!” she wailed again, uncharacteristically, falling at Maka’s feet.

       “How.  Do we change.  Him back?” Maka gritted out, beyond angry.  The puppy was cowering behind her, licking at her exposed calf in some strange attempt at comfort.

       “I—I don’t know!”  The cat-woman wailed from her feet, clasping the meister’s ankles in despair.  “It was meant—meant for a bad man, a very bad man—and I didn’t understand the spell that well, and it was on a scroll—it was strange, it disappeared once I cast it.  BU-TAN IS SO SORRY!” She repeated again, sobbing.

       “Get. Up.”  Maka said between clenched teeth, causing the cat to wail louder.

       “I said GET UP.  You need to come with me to see Stein—NOW.”  Choking back sobs, the cat woman rose and nodded.  Maka hurried into Soul’s bedroom to grab up the candy wrapper, and they all made their way to the school where Stein should still be, Maka insisting they take the bike for speed, Blair clutching her tightly from behind with Soul in the saddlebag once more.  There was no time to spare—Maka knew what had happened now, and hopefully Stein could figure out how to fix it, because the thought of the alternative was simply not acceptable.

 

       When they arrived at the school, Maka parked the bike in the usual place after the same sort of jolting ride as the night before, and then, strode up the stairs purposefully, the puppy in her arms and Blair at her heels.  Other students stared and whispered at the strange sight of three star meister Maka Albarn carrying a puppy with a scantily clad magical cat in tow, but none dared say anything to their fellow students, let alone try to stop her.  She made her way straight to Class Crescent Moon where she should have been all day, and where Stein was lecturing, bursting through the doors without ceremony and moving straight up to the professor, who eyed her boredly from his rolling chair, seemingly unfazed by her sudden presence.

       “Maka.  How can I help you?”

       “There’s been—a development,” she said quietly, her eyes falling meaningfully to the puppy in her arms.

       “Well, then,” he nodded, coughing once.  “Class—it appears we have a bit of an emergency, so if you’ll excuse us, you can go home early.  But I do expect those essays on the substance of the soul in the morning.”  The beginnings of cheers at the announcement of an early dismissal quickly turned to groans at the mention of the essay, and students streamed past them, glancing curiously at Maka and her entourage, but not lingering lest the professor saddle them with extra homework.  The members of Spartoi did, however, linger, Black*Star jumping down in front of Maka with a “yahoo!” and grinning.

       “Pigtails! So you finally showed!  Where the hell’s my man Soul and what the hell is—“

       “Black*Star,” Stein interrupted.  “As—touching—as I’m sure Miss Albarn finds your concern, this is a private matter.  Now, if you’ll excuse us?”  With that, the professor took a grateful Maka by the elbow and steered her out of the room, Blair following closely behind, leaving a confused Spartoi and indignant Black*Star in their wake as he guided her to his office.

       “Now,” the professor said, taking a seat behind his desk and motioning for Maka to do the same.  “Explain.”

       Before the meister could get a word in, however, Blair plopped down into the second chair facing the desk, head in hands, and wailed, “It’s _all_ Bu-tan’s FAULT!”

       “Really?” Stein raised an eyebrow, eying the cat woman with renewed interest.  “How, exactly?

       “Bu-tan—cast a spell on some chocolate—and—and—Soul-kun _ATE IT_ —and and—“ she was hysterical again, and Maka wanted to chop her just to get her to calm down.  Stein was on top of things, however, and he shushed the cat, raising his hand in a placating motion.

       “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

       Blair gulped, nodded, and did as she was bid, getting the story out as calmly as she could, with the occasional “hmmm, I see,” from Stein, until she was finally done.

       “And you have the wrapper?” He asked Maka.

“Mmmm hmm,” she said, digging it out and offering it to Stein.  

“Good, very good.  Without the spell, it will be difficult, but perhaps we can figure this out yet.  If you would be willing to assist me—“ he looked pointedly at Blair “—it would help considerably.”

       “Uh—Of course,” Blair said, her voice shaky.  “Bu-tan will do whatever it takes to help Soul-Kun!”

       “Good!” Stein clapped his hands together, and rose.  “Then you, come with me.  Maka, get some rest.  You have the week off.”

       “B—but professor, I—“

       “No buts—“

       “Please, Professor Stein, I—I could use the distraction. I’d—I’d like to go to school tomorrow, if it’s okay…”  She was petting the puppy nervously, who had remained uncharacteristically skill and quiet though all of it, but who barked now, whether in agreement or protest was uncertain.  Maka suspected the later.

       “Very well,” he said.  “I’ll contact you when I know more.”  With that, he rose to leave, Blair following nervously after, and Maka trailing last, dazed, unsure what to do next.

       She didn’t have long to consider.  Spartoi was gathered just outside of Stein’s office, and they accosted her the moment she emerged, Stein already having passed by with Blair.

       “Maka, what the fuck?” Black*Star was the one to speak before anyone else could.  Maka just shook her head, not sure what to say.

       They were all there, all of Spartoi save Kim and Jackie, looking at her questioningly.

       “It’s nothing, okay?  Just something Stein needed to handle, and it’s being handled.  End of story.”  She couldn’t deal with this now.  It was too much, too overwhelming.  She was just starting to get used to the idea that, for the time being, her partner was a dog.  How the hell was she supposed to explain all that to her friends?

       “I was surprised you would miss school with a big test coming up so soon,” Ox Ford spoke up, adjusting his glasses as his eyes met hers.

       “I had some things to take care of,” Maka said shortly. She didn’t care about the stupid test anymore, not after this.  Well, maybe she cared a _little._  “Anyway, it’s none of your business, okay?  I’ll be fine for the test.  I have plenty of time to study.”

       “Wait—where the hell _is_ Soul anyway?” Black*Star spoke up again.  He was frowning, and the boy rarely frowned.  

       “Leave her alone, Black*Star,” Tsubaki shook her head, squeezing her meister’s arm meaningfully.

       “What I can’t figure out is why you brought the cat.  I can’t imagine you bringing your roommate on purpose unless it was something pretty big.”  Harvar’s voice was questioning, though he looked as bored as ever.  

       “Stein needed her help, so I brought her,” Maka said with a small shrug.  She knew they meant well, but she felt trapped by all the unwanted scrutiny and just wanted to go home.

       Before anyone else could question her further, Tsubaki walked over to place a hand on Maka’s shoulder.

       “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but—if you need anything, you know where to find me, okay?  Everyone is just worried.  But we all know you will talk to us about anything important if you need us.”

       That this little speech was meant for all of them was obvious, and Maka thanked Shinigami that she had a friend like the tall shadow weapon.

       “Look, I’m fine,” she took a deep breath.  “If I need any help, you all will be the first to know, okay?”  Maka looked around the group almost pleadingly, and reluctantly, each nodded.

       As she looked to the two pistols standing towards the back, however, Liz caught her eye and gave her an odd, reassuring smile along with the nod.

       “It’s Soul, isn’t it?”  This came suddenly from Kilik.  “I mean, if something were going on with you, he’d be right here with you unless he _couldn’t_ be.”

       “He’s—nearby, okay?  He’s fine.  Just…”  She trailed off as the puppy squirmed in her arms, clearly agitated.  Maka swallowed hard.  Why couldn’t they all just leave her alone?  Well meaning or not, she—

       “Maybe you should just tell them, Maka,” Liz put in, looking pointedly towards the puppy in her arms.  “It might help.  Maybe someone will even have an idea.”  Obviously, Liz knew.  Maka wanted to groan.  Why couldn’t Kid keep his big trap sh--

       “You should listen to big sis!” Patti put in.  “Dealing with something like this alone when you have friends to help you is silly!”

       “Kid told you two, then.”  It wasn’t a question.  Liz shrugged and Patti grinned, giggling.

       “We were there when Stein called Kiddo on the mirror!  He made Liz promise not to tell or he’d pluck her eyebrows again!”  Patti singsonged, laughing while Liz shuddered.

       “I haven’t told anyone, obviously,” Liz offered.  “But you should.”

       As if to emphasize the point, the puppy suddenly barked, drawing attention to itself.  Soul licked her hand reassuringly, and that was the moment she decided.  This was stupid, Liz was right, she should just tell them.

       “Fine.  Fine.  Soul is—he is—“ she sighed and looked down at the puppy in her arms.  “Right here, okay?”

       “He’s—“ Tsubaki started to say, confused.

       “—THE DOG!”  Black*Star almost shouted.  “Shit, Soul’s a dog—how the fuck?”  He was laughing.  “Only Soul, dude—holy fuck.”

       “How…?”  Ox Ford was shaking his head.

       “The cat.  You know it had to be the cat.”  Harvar said flatly, arms crossed on his chest.  They were all looking at Soul, Black*Star laughing, Patti giggling, and the rest seeming varying levels of confused and sympathetic.

       Maka sighed.  “It was Blair, though not on purpose—and Stein is handling it, okay?  Soul and I will be in school tomorrow, and I know it won’t be long until everything is normal again.”  Again, Soul barked in her arms, and Maka smiled down at him. This hadn’t been so bad, telling them.  Maybe they really could help.  

       “I’ll copy my notes from today for you,” Ox said suddenly, unexpectedly, and Maka looked to him, slightly stunned.  

       “Uh, thanks—that would be great.”

       “I’ll help you take care of Soul!” Patti squealed.

       “You should—come to our house for dinner tonight, okay?”  Tsubaki put in quietly  from her side.  “It’s been awhile, and we’d really like to have you.  Right, Black*Star?”  She elbowed her still guffawing meister in the ribs, and he sobered, looking at Maka sheepishly.

       “Uh, yeah, sure, you and Soul are always welcome, ‘course.  Uh, see you later, then?”

       “Um, okay,” Maka forced a smile at the group.  “Thanks, everyone.”  She was embarrassed at so much attention, but still, feeling the slightest bit better at having told them.  It was a relief.  She felt just a little less alone, a little more hopeful to have the support of her friends.  “I’m going to take Soul home now, okay?”

       “Wait a sec,” Liz spoke suddenly.  “Kid wanted to see you first—he actually asked if we’d come get you after school, like we’re his damned messenger service.”  She rolled her eyes, but there was no real venom there.

       “Sure, we can do that first,” she looked to the group.  “I guess I’ll see most of you tomorrow.”  She then turned to Tsubaki.  “What time do you want us over?”

       “Whenever you’d like is fine.  I can have dinner ready when you get there.”  She smiled softly.

       “I’ll—okay we won’t be long, then.  Thanks.”  Maka began to walk down the hall, but heard the footsteps of the group trailing behind her and turned back.

       “I think I can handle talking to Kid by myself,” Maka snapped, a bit of her fire returning with her annoyance.

       “We should go, too,” Ox insisted, speaking for the group.  “Like Liz said, we might have something to offer—“

       “We can handle this,” Liz said pointedly from just behind her.  “I’ll clue you all in on anything important.  Got it?”  She was staring them all down, and even Black*Star looked nervous.

       “Uh, sure,” Star answered for the group.  “Later, then.”  With no further ceremony, the ninja put his hands behind his head and started walking in the opposite direction, weapon in tow.  The rest of Spartoi similarly dispersed and Maka breathed in a sigh of relief, petting the puppy absently.

       “He really is adorable,” Patti said suddenly, her face close to Soul, who was squishing himself into Maka’s chest to avoid her.

       “Yeah,” Maka agreed, starting to walk again, moving the dog away from Patti’s covetous grin.  “Uh, thanks guys.  I appreciate it.”

         “Any time,”  Liz shrugged.  A surge of gratitude hit the meister; she really did have good friends, even if they were annoying sometimes.  A lot of the time, even.

       The trio walked largely in silence, Patti walking backwards to coo at Soul, and soon reached the Death Room, entering without ceremony to find Kid hunched over some files splayed out on a large table.  He cleared them as he heard their footsteps, summoning up some sort of inter-dimensional space to return them to, and taking a tray covered with a teapot and cups out of that same space.  He really was becoming comfortable in his new role, and Maka couldn’t help the little swell of pride at how well her friend had handled the transition.  Maybe she would never quite be used to thinking of Kid as Shinigami-sama, but he truly was the God of Death nonetheless.

       “Maka,” Kid nodded, smiling slightly.  “Good to see you, as always.  Have a seat, have some tea, we have things to discus.”  Maka nodded, pulling out a chair with one hand as she kept Soul firmly clasped in the other arm, then sitting.  Liz and Patti each took a seat around the table as well, and Kid began to pour the tea.  He often wore his mask these days for official business, but kept it off now, as he often did when among friends.

       “So,” Kid looked towards the scythe meister across the table, his eyes going glassy for an instant.  “That really is Soul.”  He shook his head in disbelief.  “Stein updated me just a few minutes ago.  We will fix this.”  His voice was firm, reassuring, and again, Maka felt a renewed rush of gratitude.

       She nodded her thanks and took a sip of tea as the puppy wriggled in her arms.  “Shhh… Soul,” she chastised, and he settled again, though still practically vibrating under the fur with impatience.

       “Of course, you can take whatever time off school you may need, both of you.  Nobody would expect—“

       “Actually,” Maka cut him off.  “I’m going to come in tomorrow.  I’ll bring Soul.  I could—um—use the distraction.”

       Kid nodded, his face solemn now.  “If that’s what you want.  Soul will be excused from his work until—well until he is returned to normal, but you may bring him.  And of course, you two won’t be assigned any missions.”

       “Of course,” Maka sighed, recognizing the necessity even as she would have liked something as distracting as a mission to take her mind away from this mess.  They sipped tea in silence for a bit, Soul still fidgeting in her lap.

       “You should let him run around!” Patti finally said, smiling.  “He probably wants to run!”  Maka looked to Kid, looking for his okay—it was his Death Room.

       “Let him run,” Kid waved a hand.  “I see no harm.”

       “Okay, thanks,” she put the puppy down, who took off immediately.

       “Wow, he sure is excitable as a dog,” Liz remarked.

       “A little, yeah.  But he _is_ just a puppy.”

       Liz shook her head in response, clearly as struck by the weirdness of it all as Maka was.   

       “Hey, Kid?” Maka ventured softly as the table quieted, most of them watching Soul as he ran around sniffing various things in the room.  The death god snapped his eyes back to his friend across the table, placid expression inviting her to continue.  “I was wondering if maybe, um, you could give Stein some time off teaching so that he can focus on helping Soul—if—you know—it isn’t too much trouble…”  She trailed off.  She knew it was a lot to ask, but this was _Soul_.  He was the Last Death Scythe.  Shouldn’t he be a priority?

       Kid smiled at her, very slightly.  “Already done,” he said warmly.  “Death Scythe will be taking over for Stein’s classes until this—is settled.  And Kim has explicit permission to miss class as necessary to assist. She and Jackie are with Stein as we speak.  After all—WHAT IN MY FATHER’S NAME IS HE DOING OVER THERE??” His voice shifted suddenly into his Death God tone, shaking the room.  The Shinigami leapt to his feet, and Maka followed, turning her gaze to where his was settled.  Soul was just finishing urinating on one post of a guillotine and, quickly trotting a few feet away, began to squat.  Was he—was he....?

       “SOUL, NO!”  She screamed at the same time as Kid, both bolting towards the little dog.  Too late.  He quickly finished his business and trotted over to Maka, looking almost smug as he peered up at her.

       “I’LL KILL HIM FOR DEFILING THE CHAMBERS OF A DEATH GOD!” Kid’s Shinigami tone rang out.  Patti and Liz both had hands on him, holding him back.

       “It’s okay, Kiddo!  I’ll clean it, okay?  Don’t worry.  He’s just a puppy and I’ll bet all that squirming was because he reaaaaallly had to go, you know?”

       Liz looked at Maka, attempting a reassuring smile.

       “Just, uh, get him out of here.  We’ve got this.”

       “You—you’re sure?”  She asked unhappily.

       “Yep!” Patti answered brightly.  Seeing Kid begin to collapse to his knees in despair, Maka took the cue to scoop up Soul and hurry out of the Death Room, trying to ignore Kid’s wail of despair behind her.  

 

       When she got out to the front of the school, she was surprised by Spirit waiting for her on the steps.  Someone must have told him, because the look he gave her as she approached was one of decided concern.  Their relationship had been far less strained since their return from the moon, and Maka forced a smile, waving at her father with her free hand as she approached.  Soul barked a few times unhappily upon noticing the redhead approaching, but Maka shushed him.

       “Hey, Papa!  I figured you’d still be busy at school.”

       “I was scheduled to help Stein with a demonstration at the end of the day, but he had to leave suddenly, so I thought I’d meet my only daughter for a chat.”  He smiled at her, but his smile looked similarly forced. Oh yes, he knew.

       “I guess, maybe you can walk me to the bike.  But I should be going soon.  Tsubaki is expecting us, and I don’t want to—“

       “You drove his bike?”  He sounded unhappy, though she could tell he was fighting to moderate his reaction.  She was a little proud at how successful he was; Maka knew how hard it was for her father to reign in his emotions when it came to her.

       “Well, um, I was in a hurry, and Soul couldn’t—“

       “Yeah, I suppose a puppy driving a motorcycle wouldn’t quite work.”  He eyed the little dog speculatively.  “So the octopus head really stepped in the shit this time, didn’t he?  Good thing he has you around to clean up his messes.”  Soul began to growl, and Spirit put his hands up.

       “Calm down, kid.  I’m on your side.”

       Maka took a moment to soothe the puppy, before turning her eyes back to her father.  “Who told you?”

       “Stein, who else? Though Kid mentioned it as well.  You could have called—I would have helped you, Maka.”

       “I know…”  She sighed.  “But there was nothing you could do and—it just happened last night and—it’s complicated.”

       “At least let me drive you home, would you?”  Soul growled at this again.

       “I can’t leave the bike, but thanks for the—“

       “I’ll drive the bike.  I don’t mind the walk back.”

       “You—you can drive a motorcycle?”

       He shrugged.  “How do you think your mom and I used to get around on missions?”

       “But you always said they were death traps and how dare Soul take me on one?” Maka replied incredulously.

       “That’s because the octopus head was driving.”  This elicited more growling from Soul.  “And I was young and stupid back then. Anyway, I know you aren’t used to driving it.  Stein mentioned as much.  Let your Papa do something, for once, to help.  Please?”  

       His face looked so hopeful that she couldn’t bring herself to deny him.  Soul was still growling, wriggling in her arms to get at the older man, but Maka shushed him.

       “Um, sure Papa, that would be really great.  Thanks.”

       With that, they made their way down the stairs, Spirit chattering idly, clearly trying to comfort his daughter with something like normalcy, and Soul growling and barking unhappily when the elder deathscythe had the audacity to drive his baby when he was stuck again in the saddlebag.

       

       Dinner with Tsubaki and Black*Star proved to be relatively uneventful.  Black*Star managed to behave, mostly, though when he tried to coax Soul into doing stupid pet tricks, Maka had to intervene—explaining patiently that, no, Soul was most certainly not going to jump through a flaming hoop.  They left shortly after, Tsubaki sending Maka on her way with leftovers and a promise to cook her food to heat for the week so she could focus on caring for Soul.  Maka tried to refuse this generosity, but Tsubaki insisted and Maka knew better to protest too stringently when it came to the shadow weapon’s mothering tendencies—Tsubaki simply would not take no for an answer.  Really, she was grateful.  She had so much on her mind that the thought of shopping and cooking with Soul in tow was almost overwhelming, and she was glad for the offer.

       School was equally uneventful.  She sat through her classes, Soul in her lap, her friends flanking her to keep others at bay.  Spartoi took turns helping her with Soul at school, walking with him so he could get air.  Other students stared and whispered, but that was the worst of it—none dared approach with Spartoi having closed ranks around her, always close.  Black*Star would even talk to Soul sometimes as if he were a person and not a puppy.  It looked a little silly, yet it made Maka smile.  It was sort of sweet, and she hated the idea of people treating her partner as somehow non-human even if that was his reality right now, even if she found herself doing so often enough.  He was so cute this way, so affectionate to her and only her, it was hard not to see him as the sweet puppy he currently was rather than the partner he was inside, hard not to treat him like the puppy and not the man he had been.  So she was grateful to Black*Star for remembering to treat him like a person (because after his idiot attempt at tricks at dinner, he had never tried again) and for reminding her to do the same.

       The weeks went by.  She took to walking to and from school, letting Soul get air and do his business.  She had to bring a scoop and a bag along, but didn’t really mind.  Sometimes, she would take him to the park.  He would often tug at her bag, begging for the ball to play fetch, and she would give in—watching him run and jump at the ball so enthusiastically was adorable.  Had he been a puppy in truth, she would have loved the little dog as is, so loyal and sweet, but he wasn’t, he was Soul, and she wanted her partner back desperately.  At night, he would snuggle up with her on the couch, demanding her attention.  Sometimes she would have to toss the ball around the apartment to appease him.  Others, he was content to lay on her stomach while she read.  She kept feeding him human food, mostly meat, refusing to make him eat the disgusting things they put in dog food.  At night, he whimpered and whined at her door if she closed it, so it had become the norm for him to curl up with her in bed.  Really, she didn’t mind.  The close familiarity of his soul was a comfort.  If she couldn’t talk to him, not really, if he was changed and strange, at least she could still feel that much, and she didn’t have the heart to deny him and hear his pitiable whines.

        The puppy didn’t like to be separated from her.  When someone else took him for a walk at school, he would whine.  When Stein asked to take him on the occasional day to run some tests, to further their research, he would moan so pitifully that Maka was tempted to skip school just to go with him, but Stein insisted that her presence was a distraction they didn’t need.  Maka always made sure either Blair or Kim would be there when Soul was—she wasn’t about to subject her currently helpless partner to Stein alone, as good as the man’s current intentions might be.  

       A month went by.  People took turns coming over to keep her company or inviting her to their houses.  Often, she refused—she knew they pitied her—but they managed to force themselves on her at least once a week. Blair mostly stayed away, out of guilt or fear she couldn’t be sure.  Spirit was the worst; he came by almost every night, though Maka was usually able to shoo him off at the door.  

       She knew that they could see the fear and loneliness under her bright smile, that they were trying to comfort her.  Snuggling Soul was her only comfort.  She loved the little dog because she loved _him_ , and she kept telling herself she should enjoy this closeness while it lasted, that pretty soon, things would be back to normal.  She tried to tell herself it was a good thing, that when it was all okay again she would look back and smile, but she could not feel it so.  Not when she missed him so much.  The puppy would always pull her back from her thoughts with a lick to the face and a snuggle, would pull a genuine smile from her.  He was the only one who could anymore.  

       It had been six weeks when Stein called her to his lab and asked her to bring Soul.  Six weeks.  She would have been hopeful, but his tone worried her, and she rushed over carelessly, taking the bike for the first time in weeks, haphazardly driving it, too fast, through the streets of Death City.  She enjoyed the rush of wind on her face, needed to feel it, needed to clear her mind of the fear that clenched her heart.  It wasn’t enough.  As Stein sat her down, she noticed Spirit on one side of her and Marie on the other and her gut clenched painfully.  As he explained, she just shook her head.  He said they’d looked into everything, tried everything.  Kid had even called in a favor from Mabaa, who had sent two high ranking witches to help.  They had examined Soul, tried to find a duplicate of the scroll spell the cat had used, tried everything.  It was no use—they couldn’t reverse it, not even Blair could because as they explained, the magic was not hers so much as inherent to the scroll she had used—and they had no idea what the reverse trigger was, or even if there was a reverse trigger.  Moreover, because the magic of two very different type of casters was already bound in the transformation, any attempt at a new transformation might have disastrous results.  Stein suspected it would kill him.

       “No,” she said slowly as the professor finished.  “That can’t be right.  There’s no way that’s right.”     

       “I’m sorry,” the older man sighed with a shake of the head, and he genuinely seemed to be.  He looked tired, worn, as he turned the screw in his head to peer at Maka thoughtfully.  Marie, who was seated to Maka’s left on the couch, and put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

       “If you need anything—“

       “NO,” she said louder.  “Soul is going to be okay.  You have to keep looking.  You have to—“

       Stein just shook his head again and looked helplessly to Spirit, who was seated on the other side of Maka.

       “Sweetie, it’s going to be al—“

       “NO!” she screamed it this time and stood up, looking down at the doctor seated across from her.  “YOU HAVE TO KEEP TRYING!”

       “Maka, sweetie,” Spirit stood up next to her, rubbed at her back, tried to soothe her.  “Stein did everything he could.  The witches did everything they could.  They’ll keep looking, but I’m afraid—“

       “NO!” she screamed again, clutching Soul to her, who was whining and shaking, whether with the heightened emotion or the news was unclear.  “I—I need to get out of here.”  She said between clenched teeth, tearing herself away from Spirit and Marie both, who each had a grip on a shoulder.  She stormed out of the house before anyone could stop her, stuffed the puppy in the saddlebag, and rode off into the night.  She rode far and fast, her anger causing her to gain a command over the bike that she couldn’t in uncertainty and fear.  She rode out into the desert, needing to feel the wind, to feel like Soul could be there, right there with her, whole and safe.  She could feel the puppy’s soul and it was almost like he was.

       She returned at dawn, spent, to collapse in her bed, the puppy curled up next to her.  They slept through that day.  It was a school day, but it didn’t matter.  She got up long enough to feed and water Soul, to let him relieve himself and to relieve herself, before she returned to bed and they both slept the night, the dog knowing or sensing her need to just be.

       She stayed home the next day as well.  People knocked on her door, but she ignored it.  People called, but she ignored it.  She needed to think.  They could figure this out.  She had to figure this out.  She clutched Soul to her as if he were her only lifeline.  In many ways, he was.  She needed him.  She had known she loved him, but she hadn’t realized how much she truly _needed_ him until he was gone, a physical presence but not a partner, not an equal.  A puppy and not her partner, not her scythe, not her _Soul._

       That night, she made curry for dinner, the first time she’d cooked in weeks, and she made him his own plate.  He ate it happily, standing on the table next to her, as she forked her own food absently, a bite occasionally reaching her mouth.  When Soul was done with his food, he nosed her mostly full plate towards her, then barked.

       “I’m not that hungry,” she sighed.  He barked again and nosed it yet closer and she laughed.

       “Alright, alright.  Sheesh, even as a dog you are _such_ a worry wort.”  She scooped half a dozen bites in quickly, finishing a third of her plate, and looked at him.

       “Happy now?”

       He barked again, wagging his tail, and she smiled, taking several more bites for good measure, before clearing the dishes.  She washed the dishes quickly, Soul wagging his tail as he watched from the counter, before scooping him up to sit on the couch, allowing the puppy to curl up on her stomach.

       They sat there for several moments, Soul simply laying, before he wriggled up and began licking her face.  She looked down, smiling at his antics even as she could feel her heart breaking because this was their reality now, and it hurt.  It hurt so so badly.

       Finally, she looked down at the puppy, looking into his intelligent red eyes, Soul’s eyes, and sighed.

       “What are we going to do?” she asked softly.  The puppy couldn’t answer, but he did lick her face again, his own attempt at comfort.

       “I just—miss you, you know?  I mean, I know you’re _right here_ , and you always said the shape and the form don’t matter but—I still miss you.  Talking to you.  Laughing with you.  You’re here, but your soul is so different, so strained, and I just—“  She trailed off with a sigh.  “I’m sorry.  I know you’re the one who has it the worst, you’re the one stuck like that.  Stein says you don’t understand, not really, that you remember things but you have the mind of a dog.  He said if you ever do change back you probably won’t remember being a dog at all, or if you do, it will only be strange images with little meaning.  I—I don’t know if that’s true.  But—“ she nuzzled him closer, pet his soft fur, scratched his ears, and he made sweet noises of contentment.

 “Oh, Soul, I—I will find a way to fix this, I swear I will.  I will figure this out.  I’ll go to the witches realm, to Mabaa herself if I have to.  I’ll—I’ll figure this out, okay?”  She stroked him again, holding him close, letting him burrow into his chest.

       “But—“ she was practically whispering now, her heart was so full.  “In case I don’t—in case I can’t—I will—I swear I will!  But—in case—I—“ She let out a loud breath.  This was silly.  He was a dog, and he wouldn’t remember.  If she couldn’t say this here, now, then when could she?  She took in another breath, deep, calming.

        “In case—you know—I want you to know, even if you can’t understand, even if you never understand, I just—I want you to know how much I love you, okay?  I—you’re the most important person to me, thinking about my life without you I—and I just love you, Soul.  I love you.”  The words were raw, stammered out awkwardly, but true.  She felt a sense of relief as she uttered them, like a weight lifting from her, one she hadn’t even realized was there.  The puppy nuzzled her face as she finished, his tail wagging happily.  Maka didn’t know if he understood, wasn’t even positive she wanted him to understand, but she needed to say it.  The feelings of love and loss were choking her, eating her from the inside out, and she had to vent them, even if it never mattered, couldn’t matter.  She ventured to kiss the puppy on the top of the head, as she had done countless times since this began, but he wriggled at the last minute, his muzzle meeting her puckered lips with a lick.

       “Ewww!  SOUL!”  She screeched at the feel of wet dog tongue on her mouth.  “GROSS!”  

       It was then, right then, that something happened.  There was a poof, a waft of purple magic much like Blair’s when she made her change, and then suddenly, very suddenly, in place of the adorably fluffy white puppy in her lap she was weighed down by an utterly confused teenaged boy now collapsed in a straddle on top of her.

       “Oh my Death--Soul?  SOUL!”  She squealed happily and threw her arms around him, relief washing over her, overwhelming her.  He was here, he wasn’t a dog, he was here.  Was she dreaming?  She must be dreaming--No--she reached towards her forearm, her arms still around him, and pinched.  She was awake.  This was real, real.

       “Maka,” he breathed near her ear, holding onto her just as tightly, holding on for dear life.  “I--Death, Maka, I thought I’d never get to--”

       And then she realized that _this was real_ and he was--he was naked, sweet Shinigami, _he was naked on her lap_.

       “S--SOUL!  HOLY DEATH, YOU’RE NAKED GET SOME CLOTHES ON!”  She screeched, kicking at him, trying to get away from where she was pinned.  It seemed that he hadn’t realized this either until she said it, because he pulled back and looked down at her, blushing deeply before shooting off her lap and into his room without another word.  She worked very hard to avert her gaze, but she caught a flash of white at his crotch as he bolted and blushed more deeply.

       She tried not to dwell on her embarrassment because--he was back, he was him again, _he was back_!  

       Less than a minute later, he returned to the living room, a pair of sleep pants and a t-shirt thrown on haphazardly.  She was so happy to see him back to himself that she beamed.  Before he could even get back to the couch, she shot up and threw her arms around him again, unable to stop the smile that kept stretching her face to its limits.  He hugged her back, held her close, then shook his head against her shoulder.

       “Sorry ‘bout that--I--didn’t mean to, you know?”

       “I know,” she laughed.  “It doesn’t matter, okay?  I’m just--really glad you’re you again.”

       “Me too,” he laughed, his chuckle reverberating against her chest.

       For several minutes they just stood there, neither knowing what to say or do.  Finally, Maka felt his arms tighten around her and he spoke again, his breath warm against her ear.

       “I love you too, you know.”  It was soft but firm.

       “W--what?”

       “You--you said you love me.  I--I love you, too.”  He repeated, confused by her response.

       “Y--you remember that?”  She gulped nervously.

       “‘Course I do.  I remember everything--it’s a little weird, but--and I definitely remember that because--well--”  He removed one arm from around her to scratch the back of his neck nervously, loosing his embrace just enough to look down at her.  “Been meaning to tell you that for a long time, too, you know?  Just--uh--didn’t know how.  So I’m glad you, um, said it.  Especially glad since I think it broke the spell.”

       She was looking at his mouth as he spoke, not quite able to meet his eyes.

       “W--what? I--it did?”

       “Yeah,” another scratch to the neck.  “I mean, when you said that and kissed me, that’s when I felt the magic come, so it must be, right?  I’m pretty sure…”

       She just shook her head in disbelief, then ventured to meet his eyes.

       “And you really--you really love me?”  She almost squeaked.  

       “Duh,” he rolled his eyes.  “Cool guys don’t lie about shit like that.”  As if to punctuate this, he moved his lips close, and suddenly his lips were on hers, soft and insistent.  She kissed him back without hesitation, just happy to be able to be here, now, like this at all.  It was strange and awkward and warm and wonderful and there were so many overwhelming feelings, relief, love, happiness, that she really could have burst.  After several moments, she pulled away, breaking the kiss.

       “There,” he was smiling.  “Figured I owed you since you kissed me first.”

       “Did not!” she punched him in the arm.

       “Did so, right before I changed.”

       “That was just you, being gross.  I meant to kiss your head, stupid dog.”

       “Sure,” he rolled his eyes again.  

       “Anyway,” she said, pulling away.  “You should get dressed.  We need to go see Stein.”

       “Aw, man, really?”  He looked put out, pouty even.

       “Yeah, really.”  She said firmly.  “We should make sure this is permanent and that there’s no lingering effects.”

       “How about… mmm...no?” he said with a grin and stepped towards her, grabbing her up in his arms again.

       “W--what?” she squeaked indignantly.

       “Look, we can go see Stein in the morning--it’ll keep.  I’ve been a fucking dog for weeks.  I just--can we just, maybe, chill, just for tonight?”  There was a playful intensity to his gaze that had Maka’s stomach doing flip flops, and she swallowed thickly and nodded.

       “A-alright.  But we’re going in the morning, okay?”

       “Anything for my meister,” he grinned down at her and then kissed her again.  It was almost as awkward as the first time, but neither seemed to care, and several minutes later, as Maka pulled away, she shook her head.

       “We should probably go to bed,” she said with a small smile.  

       “Aw, really?  I just changed back.  Couldn’t we--”  He looked incredibly put out.  She just grabbed his hand and began to tug.  

 _“We_ should really go to bed,” she repeated, pulling him towards her room.

       “Oh...uh...okay, sure,” he grinned, following.  She’d grown so used to curling up with her puppy that the thought of sleeping alone when she had her Soul back was--well--unthinkable.  So they curled up together, content in each other’s arms, happy for the normalcy and that new something between them that thrilled them both, and went to sleep.

 

       In the morning, when they told the story to Stein, even the embarrassing bits they both would have preferred to leave out, the professor nodded when it was over, humming thoughtfully.

       “What?”  Maka asked, holding onto her partner’s hand as if she never intended to let him out of her sight again, and maybe she didn’t.

       “Must have been a pretty old spell to have that sort of trigger.”  

       “So you think my saying--you think that was the trigger?”  Maka stammered, reddening.  

       “Saying I love you?  Maybe.  But it’s more likely it was love’s first kiss.”

       “Huh?” Both teens looked at Stein, then each other, confused.

       “Well, you said that you went to kiss Soul on the head after telling him you loved him, only, he shifted and licked your mouth.  Love’s first kiss. It’s a bit cheesy and old fashioned.  Witches rarely use that type of trigger anymore, but clearly, the scroll Blair used was old.  You’re just lucky to have stumbled on the trigger, really.”

       They both reddened, but nodded.

       “But--um--why did he remember?” Maka ventured, still red with embarrassment, but also curious.  “I thought you said--”

       Stein waved a hand absently.  “It was a guess.  I guessed wrong, clearly.  It happens.  Well, then.  Everything appears to be in order.  I expect you both in school on Monday--you can take the next few days to adjust, Soul.”

       “Uh, yeah, thanks,” the somewhat dazed deathscythe said, shaking his head slightly.  

       “Um, so, we’ll um, see you Monday, Professor?” Maka put in.

       “That’s the plan,” he nodded, then waved them a dismissal.  Maka tugged her partner outside, and both of them mounted the bike together.  This time, Soul drove.

 

       There was some commotion surrounding Soul’s return to school--his friends were thrilled, and there was a lot of fist bumping and handshaking and words of congratulations.   His fangirls were equally thrilled, right up until he kissed his new girlfriend openly in the hallway, declaring their new status for all and sundry.  Maka received dirty looks for weeks after, but was too happy to much care.

       Blair came back later that week, acting as if nothing had happened.  They neither asked, nor did she offer, where she had gone off to when she wasn’t helping Stein.   Trying as it had all been, neither could find it in their hearts to be angry with their roommate for more than a few days; it hadn't been intentional, what had happened, and in the end, it had worked out.  In the end, it had led them to a better place, and for that part, neither could be sorry.

       They adopted a kuvasz puppy several months later.  Maka said she missed having a dog around, and Soul didn’t really mind--after all, as he admitted to her later, if not for a kuvasz puppy and a stupid magical cat, his girlfriend might still be just his meister, and he was much happier with things as they were, even if it had meant spending months as a dog.  

 

 


	2. Nosebleed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever since the Lust chapter of the Book of Eibon, Maka has had a little problem, and it's becoming increasingly difficult to hide.

             She grimaced at the feeling of the cabinet door slamming into her face, but what choice did she have?  The blood trickled freely from her nose and down her lip.  Disgusting. She stood there for several moments as she heard shuffling behind her, stifling the urge to slam her head against the door again out of sheer frustration.  When the shuffling stopped, Maka turned to her partner, who was holding out a wad of paper towels solicitously.  At the sight of him, still glistening from the heat and moisture of his shower, only a towel slung haphazardly around his hips, the gushing of blood from her nose redoubled, and she swiped the offered paper towel angrily from his outstretched hand to hold it to her now sore nose, glaring at him.

            “Don’t look at me.  ‘S not my fault you’re a klutz.”  Soul was shaking his head as he turned to their shared freezer, digging through for a bag of frozen peas and tossing it her way.  She caught it with her free hand, still glaring.

            “Forget it.  I can do without the gel today.  I’ll be out in a minute to finish breakfast.  Just—sit—would you?”  He gave her another headshake before he turned on his heels and made for his bedroom, shutting the door with a soft click behind him.    

            “NEXT TIME PUT ON SOME DAMNED CLOTHES!” She couldn’t help but to scream after him, venting her frustration.  Who the hell came out in only a towel to ask about hair gel, hair gel that she never used?  Would it be so much to ask for him to, perhaps, maybe, throw some clothes on before he accosted her to find something she had absolutely no interaction with?  Maka didn’t think so.  And now breakfast—oh hell—it was burnt was what it was, the pancakes smoking in the pan.   At some point, he had turned off the heat and turned on the vent fan.  That’s what that breakfast comment had clearly been about.  But she had been too busy with her head slammed against a cabinet, blood trickling from her nose profusely, to notice.  When had this happened?  When had she become—become—well—Soul??

            “UGH!” she screeched, pulling out a chair from the kitchen table and flinging herself into it roughly.  Putting her head in her hands, paper towel still on her nose, she pressed the bag of peas up against her sore face.  This was humiliating and ridiculous and she was tired of having to smack her head into things to hide her little problem. Because it _was_ a problem, a recurrent problem, one brought on by a weapon/partner/roommate entirely too good looking for anyone’s good who liked to prance around in entirely too little clothing, much to her now frequent chagrin.  When had it become acceptable for him to walk around in only boxers?  To hang out in the living room in low slung sleep pants and nothing else?   _To strut about in only a towel for Shingami’s sake_?  Was he doing it on purpose?  He couldn’t be doing it on purpose. He wouldn’t.  Or would he?  Maka just didn’t know anymore, but if it was purposeful, then her pretense of a sudden onset of total klutziness was just making things worse.

            This was bad.  This was so very, very bad.  She groaned again into the frozen peas, mushing them harder against her face, her punishment for impure thoughts about her weapon, her penance, her attempt at absolution.  Stupid Papa and his stupid perverted genes, stupid Book of Eibon and the stupid Lust chapter and stupid, stupid Soul and his ridiculously defined and entirely too good looking—

            “UGH!” she shouted again, slamming her head down against the table, peas, paper towel, hand and all to avert her gaze forcefully as she felt a new rush of blood from her traitorous nostrils.  Said stupid, stupid weapon was now looming over her in nothing but low riding jeans, the look of concern clear on his far too handsome face.   He reached a hand out over the table suddenly, pressing the back of it to her forehead before shaking his head and mumbling “not warm.”   Soul then proceeded to walk over to the stove and grab the pan of burnt pancakes, scraping it out quickly over the sink before returning it to the stove and turning it back on, melting a new pat of butter.

            “These will be ready soon.  Just—stay still for now.”  He sounded annoyed and concerned all in one as he began to pour new circles of batter into the pan.  Maka just groaned again, pointedly keeping her eyes averted from his tanned and toned back muscles and the delicious curve of his ass just below the waistband of his—

            “Ugh,” she groaned a third time as more blood shot into the paper towel.  She mushed the peas in harder, slamming her forehead lightly against the kitchen table in her frustration.

            “Don’t think killin’ brain cells is gonna help,” she heard her weapon say from his place at the stove, which just made her want to bash her head into the table harder.  This whole thing was a nightmare.  Sometimes, she wondered if she was still trapped in the book somehow, stuck in some strange version of her life, one in which she had metamorphosed into a walking, breathing sack of hormones

            It had started in the Book of Eibon, in the chapter of Lust.  That damned book, that damned chapter where she’d become some version of what she was most attracted to fused with her own appearance and had consequently looked far too much like her weapon for her own comfort.  That damned chapter where she’d first experienced overwhelming arousal, overwhelming _male_ arousal, a purely physical reaction to purely physical stimuli being shoved at her.  It was an odd thing.  Maka had not, at that moment, wanted to have sex with the succubus who had caused the reaction—not even close.  She had no interest in such a thing, then or ever.  And yet, the physical reaction she could not help; her body, unused to such things, had worked of its own accord, and in that moment, Maka had felt like she understood Soul’s plight just a little.  He couldn’t help it.  He couldn’t help what physical stimuli might do to him, and it didn’t really _mean_ anything.  That epiphany was truly enlightening, that a physical response, an involuntary response, was not the same thing as actual interest.  It had given her an understanding of her poor, beleaguered partner she’d never had before, and she might have actually been thankful for that if not for what else it had given her.

            Because the truth was, Maka hadn’t thought a hell of a lot about sex up until that time, had been too driven, too concerned with other things like kishin and witches, and Crona and Asura, to worry about such trivialities.  But the Lust chapter had thrust those feelings upon her, and now she couldn’t shake them, couldn’t keep them from her mind.  It was something bound up in Soul; that she had been a reflection of her death scythe at that moment was undeniable and embarrassing and something she hoped no one but herself had realized.  But it also made her think of his arousal, the idea of his arousal, as something she found—well—arousing herself.  It forced to the forefront feelings about her partner that she had been content to ignore.  Affection she had long felt, but love and _lust_ , these were things she had been unwilling to see until the Book forced her hand, painfully, so painfully.  Since then, she had not been able to unsee, to unknow how attracted she was to her weapon, her stupid, sexy, jerkwad of a scythe, and now—now—she couldn’t stop the nosebleeds.  Things that had never fazed her, things she had never looked twice at (well, maybe she _had_ a few times, but not quite as intently,) now had her nose spurting like Old Faithful because _he_ was what aroused her—the Book had cemented that.  Stupid, stupid Book and stupid, stupid Soul.

            She was pulled from her brooding thoughts by a plate of pancakes appearing before her, quickly followed by a glass of milk.  She looked up cautiously from her place facedown against the table and noticed Soul just sitting with his own plate of flapjacks, his own glass of milk.  His eyes were on his food for the moment as he first slathered on butter then syrup before shoveling food into his mouth with a gusto he seemed to reserve for eating and music.   As her thoughts began to stray towards wondering if he’d show the same level of enthusiasm for _other things_ , she had to put her head back on the table and bite down on her lip _hard_ to stem her thoughts and a new potential blood flow.  About halfway through his meal, he turned his eyes to where she was still planted, cheek against the table, paper towel and peas against her nose, eyes anywhere but on him, her pancakes untouched.

            “Aren’t you gonna eat?” she heard him ask after swallowing a mouthful of food.  She lifted her eyes and felt terrible because the concern on her weapon’s face was obvious.

            “Um, yeah, thanks.  Just wanted them to—uh—cool a little.”  She punctuated her answer by finally lifting her head from the table and setting aside the blood soaked paper towel and frozen vegetables to hastily pour some syrup on her pancakes and then begin to eat them, keeping her focus on her food.  That must have satisfied him because he stayed silent for the rest of the meal.

            As she finally finished her last bite, chased down by a final gulp of milk, she dared raise her eyes to him again, only to realize he was eyeing her speculatively.  She had the feeling he had been for several minutes and flushed at the thought before grating out “what?”

             This was greeted by a frown.  “Something’s wrong.  All this running into shit isn’t like you.”

            “I’ve just been preoccupied.  There’s a lot going on, you know?”

            He seemed to consider that for a moment, but then shook his head again before getting up to clean up the breakfast mess.  She moved to help, but he snapped “sit” at her.  When her eyes narrowed in angry question, he responded.

            “I’ll do it.”  He kept cleaning up as he spoke, getting first his plate then hers into the sink, followed by the pancake pan. “Get the ice back on your head—okay? Maybe you should see Stein or something.”

            “Stein can’t fix this,” she mumbled under her breath, thinking it was too quiet for him to hear her over the water running in the sink.

            “What?” he turned the water off abruptly and spun to face her, his frown deeper than before.  “There _is_ something wrong, isn’t there?”  Drying his hands on his jeans, he walked the two steps to the chair next to hers and pulled it up to sit close.  “What’s going on, Maka?”

            Damn him and his freakishly good hearing, damn her for speaking her thought aloud, damn, damn, damn.  It wasn’t like she could tell the truth, but she was also a notoriously terrible liar.

            “It’s nothing, Soul.  Just drop it, okay?  I’m fine.”

            “That,” he waved his hand to the bloody paper towel on the table.  “Doesn’t look fine.  It looks like the exact fuckin’ opposite of fine.”

            “People run into things,” she shrugged, forcing her tone into nonchalance.

            “Since when,” he said, leaning close, far, far too close.  “Is Maka Albarn, two-star meister, a class-A klutz?”

            “Bumping into a door because you’re startled doesn’t make you a klutz, Soul,” she huffed, annoyed not by the accusation but by the truth it held.

            “Once, maybe.  But multiple times a day for a week?  Yeah, I’d say that earns you the klutz card.  What the hell is going on?”

            She stood up, fists clenched, her anger unreasonable but undeniable.                    “Nothing, I told you,” she gritted out.

            “Then why won’t you see Stein?” He stood as well, stepping close again.  She stepped back, needing space, needing not to have the heat of him looming over her.

            “Because there’s nothing wrong for him to fix!  You are blowing a couple of moments when I was preoccupied because, oh I don’t know, Asura is on the loose, and Crona is missing, and everything is going to hell, and turning it into some sort of national emergency.   _I’m.  FINE.“_

“Bullshit,” he was clenching his fists, his mouth an angry line, his brow creased in concerned fury.  “I’ve seen you preoccupied.  I’ve seen you worried.  But this—this is something fucking else and—damnit, Maka, I’m worried about you.  This isn’t like you.  This isn’t normal and I think—“  He had grabbed her shoulders, his hands searing her skin, his face so close she could feel the heat of his breath with every word.   She had the sudden impulse to smash her lips to his, to close that small gap between their mouths, but used her hands to push him forcefully away instead.

            “Stop it!” she practically screamed.  “It’s your fault, all your fault!  If you’d just stop—just leave me alone—I’ll be fine, okay?  I just—UGH!” Her words caught as he looked like she’d struck him.  She Maka chopped him often enough and he never looked so distraught then, yet now…

            “Maka, I…”  He was shaking his head.  “I don’t understand what I did, but—“

            “Nothing!  You didn’t _do_ anything, okay.” She forced down the anger because he didn’t deserve it.  She wasn’t angry at him—she was angry at her own idiot self and her idiot hormones and and--

            “Whatever it is,” he raised one hand to brush the hair from her eyes, taking away what little shield she had from him.  “Whatever shit is going on—we can deal with it together, okay?  That’s what partners do—isn’t that what you always tell me?  Listen to your own advice for once, idiot.”

            Her anger drained away at his words.  This, this right here, right now, was why she was in this mess.  Because not only was he ridiculously attractive, which she could resist and _had_ , but what really drew her in and kept her there, what made him irresistible, what had made her love him and in loving him _want_ him, was how much he genuinely cared for her.  What a good partner he was, what a good friend, how much he showed, over and over again, that she was important to him.  The problem was, being a good friend and partner wasn’t the same thing as loving someone, not the way she had come to love him, and she was pretty sure he was never going to see her that way and this was stupid, stupid, stupid wanting him so badly, _needing_ him so badly, because it couldn’t end well.    

            “This isn’t something you can fix,” she finally said, her eyes looking down and finding his scar.  It only caused a renewed pang, a renewed echo of the feelings coursing through her.

            “If you’d tell me, maybe—“

            “THIS ISN’T SOMETHING YOU CAN FIX!” she repeated, the anger returning, sharp and sudden.  “This isn’t something that can _be_ fixed, and I don’t…“  She looked down, looked away.

            “You don’t WHAT?  If you’d just tell me what the fuck is going on instead of being so damned stubborn!  You don’t have to do it all alone, you aren’t alone, damnit!”

            She was fuming again, and his hands were on her shoulders holding her near again, and she could feel the heat of his answering anger rising, and she felt cornered, trapped.  For once, Maka Albarn had no answers and it frightened her.

            “I will be if I tell you,” she wanted to scream it, but managed to control her voice, her tone flat and angry.

            “That doesn’t even make sense! _Whatever_ it is, I’m not going anywhere!  Haven’t I fucking proven that?”  He was looming closer, his anger and confusion and rising hurt causing him to hover near, his lips a hairsbreadth from her own, close, so close.   “What do I have to do to finally prove to you I’m _never_ going anywhere?!”  The urge to bridge that short distance was strong again, but before she could act, before she could even know if she _would_ act, his lips were on hers, shocking her.  They were as hot and moist as she had ever imagined, and at first she stiffened, not knowing how to process what had just happened before her brain seemed to jump start with the knowledge that _he was kissing her—SOUL WAS KISSING HER—_ and that was all she needed to return the favor, her lips sliding desperately, awkwardly against his.  She felt his hands slip from her shoulders to her waist, allowed her own hands to move up around his neck to pull him yet closer.  Part of her disbelieved, strongly disbelieved, that this was happening, that he had kissed her, was kissing her, was letting her kiss him back, because—because—hadn’t he made it clear he didn’t see her that way?  But the insistence of his lips, the heat of his chest against her thin tank top, the feel of his hands forcing her even closer, sliding on the skin of her back, teasing her spine, these things did not feel like indifference.  They felt like—like—

            She pulled back, pulled away, taking one step back and then another.  As good as it felt, as much as this was what her body had been screaming at her to do since they’d returned from the book, she was still confused.

            “Soul, I don’t—does this—“  She dared to meet his eyes.  He looked as dazed as she felt, as confused, but there was something else there too, something so like raw _need_ that it kindled the flame anew.

            “Maka—I—“ she stepped back towards him just as he reached for her, both so surprised by the other’s sudden move that his hand accidentally grazed a thinly covered breast, just brushing her nipple that was still hardened after the surge of need caused by their kiss, from the fire it had lit within her.  Before she could say or do anything more, she heard her weapon exclaim “Shit!” and saw a fountain of blood gush from his nose.

            “Shit, shit, shit!” he swore, storming over to the kitchen table to grab the paper towels, pulling off a wad to stem the sudden flow.  A sudden flow that _had been caused by her_.  Something like elation swelled within her chest, something like triumph because that kiss wasn’t a fluke, wasn’t a placating move.   _She wasn’t the only one._ She really, truly, wasn’t alone in this _._  The very thought of it, of her weapon’s clear arousal, made her own nose trickle, and she followed her weapon to grab her own new wad of paper towels.  They eyed each other underneath the balled up paper, both blushing fiercely with embarrassment, Maka nervously, Soul seemingly coming to some new epiphany as he noted the blood now seeping from her nose again, eyed the discarded paper towel on the table from earlier.  Maka could practically see the wheels in his head turning, could see his brain working to connect the dots, and she was fairly certain that if he, like Stein, had a giant screw embedded in his skull, he’d be turning it thoughtfully just about now.

            The very comparison made her shudder in revulsion, stemming the blood flow as she waited for her weapon to draw his conclusions and say something, _anything._  She felt like something was ending or beginning, something wonderful or terrible was about to happen, and elation and sickening fear mixed within her in equal measure, making her feel almost numb.  The final cog must have clicked into place because understanding dawned in his eyes and he—he—smirked.  The bastard was smirking at her!

            “I can’t believe that’s what this was about,” he shook his head and chuckled.

            “Wha—what do you mean?” she said nervously, averting her gaze as she moved to discard the used paper towel.  Unfortunately, he did the same and they met at the waste bin, where he grabbed her wrist, pulling her close again.  She looked up at him nervously, biting her lip in trepidation.

            “You were doing it on purpose.  To hide _that_ ,” his eyes flicked down to the bloodied paper in the bin, then back to hers, “weren’t you?”           

            There was a rawness to his voice beneath the self-satisfied amusement that thrilled and frightened her, and she just nodded slowly.

            “I…after the book…I…”

            “For me.”

            “For you.”

            His hand moved up to her neck, tangling in her hair.

            “Me too,” he said softly.

            “You…?  After the book…?”

            “No, way before that.”

            “That’s not possible, Soul,” she said almost sadly.  “This is the first time you’ve ever—“

            “When’s the last time you saw me get a nosebleed?” he cut her off.

            “I—“

            “When?”

            “I don’t know.”

            “Exactly,” his lips were near again.  “Blair attacked me so often I got good at controlling them.  But there are other things I can’t control so easily.  Have you never wondered why my damned jacket ends up in my lap so often?”

            “I—no—“ her eyes moved down, caught sight of exactly what he meant, raised back to his, wide with surprise as she mouthed “oh…”

            “Yeah.  Oh.  And that’s you.  Because you—“ his mouth moved down to kiss one cheek, feather light, “—drive me—“ he brushed the other cheek with his lips, “—crazy—“ to finally settle his mouth on hers once more.  This kiss was less awkward as each slanted their head, less frantic, more heady.  His hands quickly found her hips, her own hands tangling in his hair almost of their own volition.  Soon, very soon, the kiss deepened, mixing tongues and breath and teeth, and neither of them seemed in a hurry to end it, but after a time, Maka broke off the kiss with reluctance and she met her weapon’s questioning, even frustrated gaze with a small smile.

            “Blair’s home.  And we should probably clean up breakfast.”

            “Oh—yeah, you’re probably right,” he said somewhat sheepishly, the moment of smirking confidence past.

            “But—um—“ She was reluctant to really let go.  Her hands were still in his hair, his still at her waist.  “That was really—mmm—nice.  I’d, uh, like to try it again, maybe, it you’d like.”  She couldn’t help her own nervousness.  This was all so _new_.

            “Are you fucking kidding me?” he said incredulously, pulling her closer for a moment.  “Of course I wanna try it again, every damned second you’ll let me.”

            “And, um, we should probably talk about—things—but later, because Blair is almost up the stairs and I really don’t want to have to explain things to her before we even figure them out for ourselves, so uh—“  She stepped back, but not before pecking him on the mouth, and then moved over to the sink to deal with the dishes he had failed to finish.

He stood gaping after her for a few moments before joining her at the sink to dry.

            “Yeah, we can talk later,” he said quietly as he grabbed a dish from her hand, his touch lingering just a few seconds too long.  While this might have given her a nosebleed a bare hour ago, she found that remembering the actual feel of his lips, the promise she would feel them again and _soon,_ helped quell the physical reflex, and she smiled and stayed silent, her hip bumping against his her only response.  Her smile widened as he bumped her back in turn.

            So maybe Soul wasn’t so stupid, and maybe the Book and the Lust chapter weren’t so stupid, maybe even nosebleeds weren’t so stupid if this was the result.  And as they heard Blair open the front door and continued their dishwashing in companionable, if somewhat charged, silence, she looked forward to what their little talk would bring.  She very much hoped it would involve more kisses.

 

 

 


	3. Insanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After facing death on the moon, what matters most to Soul and Maka is each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is total Smut Eater, GRAPHIC SEX PEOPLE. Read at your own risk.

            When it was over, it wasn’t just over.  They were still hovering over a moonscape now covered in ichor with no place to land, they still had to fly home before they could even think of what they had just been through.  Fatigue, grief, these things couldn’t matter in the face of necessity. So they flew. Maka’s blood dress faded and her tattered uniform was left behind as she mounted her scythe again, both of them so weary, so numb, so utterly _spent_ that their flight was wobbly and uneven. Only the comfort of joining souls allowed them to maintain resonance through their complete exhaustion.

            In an act of mercy or practicality, perhaps both, Kid took Black*Star and his weapon onto the back of Beelzebub until Tsubaki was close enough to the ground to use her shadow for their final descent.  For once, even Black*Star was silent, though he groaned occasionally. There was nothing left to say, no energy to say it. 

            The trip back took nearly twice as long as the trip there had taken, and that was with gravity on their side.  As they’d neared the skyline of Death City, the group  seemed to silently agree to approach the threshold of the school together, to stand together this last time before going their separate ways.  It was early morning, the new light of the sun breaking on the horizon like a beacon of hope they could not yet feel.  Maka had felt the souls on the moon vanish, but she did not know what it meant and she hoped she would find out now. 

            The reunion was brief.  She saw her father and tears welled, and yet, she could not hug him, not yet. She ran to Marie instead, relieved by the life all around her, basking in the comfort of a mother’s arms, even if she was not her own.  They were alive. They were all alive. It felt surreal, like a dream too good to be true.  She pried herself away from her weeping father, ignoring the odd look her weapon gave her at the action, and dragged her scythe out of the building and away. What she wanted, what she needed most, was to go home. 

            The walk up the stairs to their apartment felt as endless as the flight home, and when they finally made it to the door and inside, Maka just wanted to collapse onto the first available piece of furniture.  Exhaustion fought pragmatism—to sleep, so necessary, or to clean off the remains of the battle, to bind their wounds first? Pragmatism won but only just, neither wishing to carry the scent and feel of the battle with them a second longer. They took turns in the shower, one sitting on the toilet as the other quickly washed off filth and blood. They might have showered together, but a shred of modesty remained.  Each emerged in a towel, their clothes peeled off from behind the shower curtain in their turn and thrown anywhere.  When both were clean, they took turns cleaning and binding wounds methodically before trudging wordlessly to their respective bedrooms.

            Maka almost didn’t bother with sleep clothes, but was glad she had when very shortly after they had separated, as she was just about to slip into her own bed, Soul knocked on her door. When she bid him enter, he wordlessly walked over in only sleep pants and unceremoniously collapsed onto her bed. She understood the action; after everything, neither wanted to sleep alone.  They curled up beneath the covers and she said nothing as he molded his front to her back, holding her close.  After everything, she couldn’t object to the closeness. She tried not to think about her Papa, to remember how his face had disappeared into the black, to remind herself instead that he was alive and safe.  She tried, as well, not to think about how that black was where her friend now resided, where Crona would continue to reside, tried not to think about how the sword meister had saved them all because the sacrifice was too painful, the memories too raw.  Comforted as she could be by her weapon’s warmth so near, she let the exhaustion take her.   

 

            When she awoke again, it was to the sound of her own screams.

            “Maka, Maka, shhhh…” he was leaning over her, so close that the warmth of his breath skimmed her cheek.  “It’s just a dream.  Only a dream.”         

            She nodded, swallowed down the lingering need to scream, swallowed back the lump that threatened tears.  He was stroking her hair from above her, making comforting shushing noises. He couldn’t understand how much the dream had hurt.  Shakily, she sat up, taking him with her, throwing herself into his arms, burrowing against him.

            The dream had been so real, but worse, far worse than the reality. In the dream, Kid and Black*Star had held her, held her back as they did when it all happened, but this time it wasn’t just her Papa and a few others down on the surface, no. This time, it had been Soul, casually waving goodbye as the black took him.  This time, she saw them all drowning in blood as she was held, struggling in the arms of her friends, powerless to stop it.  This time she didn’t scream for her father, she screamed for _him,_ screamed his name until her voice was raw and her heart felt empty.  She had lost him— _she had lost him_ —and he was the one thing she could not lose.  She clutched him tighter, reminding herself that he’s here, right here, he’s okay, he’s okay, _he’s okay_. But he almost wasn’t, they both almost weren’t, they had come so close to dying that she could still taste the black blood on her tongue; _she_ had come so close, Asura’s hand ripping into flesh and bone and muscle, tearing her very heart into shreds, that she had been gone for the barest instant, and in that time, her life had not flashed before her eyes, no. Instead, she had seen him, she had seen them, together, where it all began.  That was the moment her dying brain had turned to, because that was the moment when her life had truly begun.  He was her life.  She had known it in that moment with a clarity so true that it took her breath away to recall it. _Soul was her life._

            She pulled him yet closer, burrowed into him, holding on for dear life because the pain of losing him, of almost losing him, was so raw, so overwhelming.  She felt his hand, still stroking her hair, his other hand rubbing slow circles in her back.  He had stopped speaking. Words were meaningless; they both knew that.  They were closer than words could possibly convey, yet not close enough, not nearly close enough. Maka wanted more, needed more, needed his skin against hers, needed to feel every bit of him, to map it, memorize it, make it a part of her.  She would have crawled inside his skin if she could, wanting nothing more than to feel whole.  How long had she denied her feelings for him?  How long had she pushed them down, thinking they were wrong, thinking he wouldn’t possibly feel as she did, or even if he did, that it would break their friendship, their partnership?  Or worse, how often had she feared loving anyone could only end badly, that love could never be enough?  It was stupid, so stupid. She could have lost him and never, never been whole because she was an idiot, they both were such idiots. She wouldn’t waste another moment, not one, because that instant when she had been so close to death had not only shown her how she felt, no.  It had crystalized his feelings as well.  She was sure, absolutely sure, that her weapon’s feelings echoed her own. They felt the same thing, wanted the same thing, denied the same thing for the same reasons, reasons that seemed petty and ridiculous in the face of almost losing everything, almost losing each other.  She let that feeling wash over her, of loss and of _need,_ let the insanity, the complete and total madness, the breathtaking, overwhelming desire of her feelings for him overtake her, and before she even knew what she did, she moved her face up, barely registering his own quiet concern before her lips were on his. 

            Soul didn’t hesitate, not even for an instant.  The moment her lips made contact, his were moving with them as he clutched her even tighter, almost painfully tight.  Maka could feel his soul, so close, not close enough, and his need for this matched her own, insane, overwhelming, that need to be closer, ever closer.  The kiss was more than a little desperate, and very strange.  After so long being so near, after having kissed his cheek or felt his lips on her hairline, for those warm lips, chapped from battle, to move with hers, hot, demanding, it felt both alien and familiar, new and right. It was awkward, their noses smooshing together in their mutual need to be closer, their lips still feeling, still figuring out how to move together.  Almost instinctually, she tilted her forehead back slightly and shifted her head to the side, and their noses now resting on each other’s cheeks, their mouths now angled and fitting together more easily, the kiss deepened, each of them desperate to increase their contact.  She swiped her tongue out insistently, still needing more, and as his mouth parted, she darted it inside, the feel of his own tongue, hot and wet and such a forbidden part of _him_ against hers sending a shudder of raw pleasure down her spine. She couldn’t stifle the moan that bubbled up at the contact, and almost of their own volition, her hands moved to touch him, one on his cheek, taking control of their kiss, while the other tangled in his hair, so deliciously soft against her fingers. 

            His own hands did not long remain idle, and as their kiss continued with sliding tongues and hot, awkward, insistent lips, Soul’s hands moved up her sides, to her shoulders, down to her bottom where he suddenly, forcefully pulled her closer into his lap.  Maka complied instantly, her legs moving to wrap around his torso, both of them enjoying the increased contact as he kept his hands on her rear, forcing her close. There was a time when that would have earned him a concussion, but that time was past.  She craved the contact, craved his hands anywhere and everywhere, and as he squeezed suddenly, forcefully when she ventured to nip at his lip, she let another strangled noise of pleasure escape her throat, uncaring what it might sound like, what it might mean. 

            The meister moved herself back from her weapon just enough to run her hands down first his shoulders, then his chest, lingering at the nipples, thrilling at the strange, textured feel of them, hard against her fingertips. He let out a strangled gasp in her mouth, suddenly shifting, his lips moving down to kiss her cheek, her chin, hot and open mouthed and insistent, before reaching her neck, sucking and exploring and nipping and causing her to make odd sounds of surprise and pleasure she would have been embarrassed by in any other circumstances, but she was far too focused on him, his touch, the feel of his skin, to care. Her own hands moved on, seeking to touch more, to memorize every bit of him with her fingers.   His hands ventured from her bottom to massage her thighs, then moved up her sides again, resting at the sides of her breasts.  The mind-numbing ache of the battle, ever present, was forgotten beneath the heat of his touch. 

            “Maka, I….” he breathed against her neck.

            “Yes,” was all she said as she grabbed his hands and slid them the rest of the way onto her chest, gasping at the feel even as he gasped with her. Only days ago she would have questioned, remembered his teasing remarks, felt inadequate, thought she wasn’t enough.  None of that mattered anymore.  She could feel his desire to touch her as clearly as she felt her own, and there was no room for self doubt, only need, raw and urgent. 

            Soul’s hands began to explore over the fabric of her tank top, first kneading, then honing in on her nipples, quickly becoming taut at his touch.  He was hesitant at first, but his touch quickly became more forceful, pulling at her nipples beneath the fabric, causing her to writhe and moan as her own hands returned to his hair, seeking anchor, his own mouth finding hers once more. As she writhed on his lap, Maka could feel something pressing against her rear and thigh and, perhaps not experienced, she was also not stupid.  She knew what it was and what it meant and she felt a pang of want rip through her body, so hot and delicious that her writhing became more pointed as she directed her pleasure into heated grinding against him, seeking to satiate that growing ache between her thighs, seeking to increase their contact all the more. He became more insistent, his hands moving beneath the tank top to touch bare flesh, the touch of his warm hands, calloused and firm, causing her to moan again, wanton, unabashed. This, yes, this was what she needed. Closer.  She wanted to be even closer. 

            She pulled back from him, surprising him, causing him to pull back his hands in question.  This was what she wanted. She pulled off her tank top quickly and then pressed her chest to his, burying her head in his neck and planting first closed, then open mouthed kisses on his skin. She groaned at the feel, a low, throaty sound, and reveled in the shudders she could feel from him at the contact as his hands sought her rear once more, dipping beneath the waistband of her sleep shorts to clutch bare skin roughly, squeezing, demanding. She gasped at the feel of his hands, biting down, causing him to gasp in turn.  She began to suck at his skin, tasting him, marking him, claiming him as hers, only hers. 

            It was odd, how instinctual it was, how little their mutual inexperience seemed to matter.  Perhaps it was their perpetual closeness, how well they knew each other, soul deep. Maka had read somewhere that early experiences were supposed to be awkward, painfully so, but while there was that element, there was so much desperation, so much new to feel and touch and know, so much raw want, that the clumsiness paled, disappeared beneath the sheer pleasure invoked at his touch, the sheer heat of them together.

            It still wasn’t enough, not nearly enough.  She needed more, and more again, more of him, his skin, his scent, his taste, his everything. He was hers and she wanted every bit of him, every last molecule. 

            Maka wriggled off of her weapon’s lap, causing him to grunt in protest, the question clear on his face. 

            “Off,” was all she said as she sat back on the bed and footed his lap, her toes fondling his erection for a moment before she lifted her rear and pulled her own sleep shorts off, sitting back down to slide them over her legs and toss them to the ground.

            “Oh—oh!” was his reply as he caught on and lifted himself from the bed to remove his own sleep pants, throwing them aside carelessly. 

            Now bare before each other for the first time, their eyes met and each sported a blush, the strangeness, the awkwardness finally catching up over the sheer want, the overwhelming emotion, the near insanity of need that had driven them until now.  They had barely exchanged two words since she had woken from her nightmare and here they were, close to diving over an edge, of crossing the bridge into this strange new land and watching it burn together.  Maka had averted her eyes from below his waist quickly, too embarrassed to keep her gaze there, but it was long enough to see his arousal, seeming altogether too big for its purpose as it stood out from the forest of white around it. She blushed more fiercely at the thought of it and reached out tentatively, eyes still locked with his, to touch his chest, her hand resting over his heart, feeling the strong, rapid beat beneath the warmth of his skin.  The scythe took the hand in both of his, eyes still only on hers, and brought it slowly to his lips, kissing her knuckles one by one before replacing the hand over his heart and pressing it against his skin with his own hands. They were beyond words, so clearly beyond words, it was only him, and her, warmth and bodies and feelings, love, adulation, and need. 

            Soul tugged on her hand and she came closer, kneeling before him as he knelt before her, their knees touching, the contact sending yet another shiver up her spine. His leg hair was tickling her bare skin, causing her to shudder as she moved her free hand up to touch his cheek. He nuzzled against her hand, closing his eyes at the feel of it, and she moved up to touch her lips to his again, soft this time, sweet, kissing first the middle of his mouth, then moving first to one corner then the other. As she moved her hands around his neck, he put his forehead to hers as they had done countless times before; it was comfortable, an intimacy they had allowed themselves in friendship crossing this new threshold with them.  They both closed their eyes, reveling in the familiarity of their nearness.

            “Is this—okay?” his voice was soft but strained.

            “Yes,” she whispered.  “I—I want this.”

            “Me too.”  His hand came up to stoke her hair.  “Maka I—“ But she cut him off, sliding one hand from his neck to place her fingers over his lips; she knew the words before he spoke them, and they could not possibly convey what he meant by them, or what she did. 

            “Me too,” she said softly, shifting her hand to his cheek and bringing her lips to his.  She had learned already to angle her head, and the soft kiss quickly graduated into passionate as she tangled her hands in his hair and pulled on his neck, pulling him down onto her in a tangle of limbs, feeling his arousal pressed deliciously against her thigh as he lay atop her.  Soul’s own hands began to explore again, stroking her breasts, then moving down, ever down, to stroke her thighs.  He shifted his weight, used his hands to part her thighs.  She complied eagerly, opening her legs wide, craving his touch where the fire had erupted even more hotly at the feel of his body pressing against her own.   Maka moved one of her own hands down, fumbling blindly against his thigh to find what she sought. Finally brushing against it and causing a moan to escape his lips, his hands stilling from where they were massaging her thighs meticulously, reverently, she reached down to grasp him, reveling in the strange contrast of hard yet velvet soft, and so so warm. She watched as he pulled back from her mouth, going upright, his eyes slamming shut as she began to move her hand in soft, tentative strokes.  As he shuddered at her touch, she grew bolder, sitting up and stroking him with more force; he moaned her name in response, causing her to shiver with want. She felt something warm and sticky coming from the tip of his stiff cock and stilled her hand, looking at him questioningly.

            “Soul, did you… already…?” she asked, her voice unsure.

            “No, no—it’s—no,” he managed, and then, pushed her back gently so that she was laying again.

            “My turn,” he said huskily, and his hands moved up her thighs, one resting just shy of her sex, the other gliding up to stoke the soft hairs above her slit. She could feel the heat and moisture, making her thighs slick, and she shuddered as he stroked just above where she longed for his touch.  How many times had she touched herself imagining his fingers instead? To feel it was something else, something _more,_ and she moaned loudly as he slid a finger down into her slit, seeking, exploring. Soul brushed her clit and she moaned again, louder, his name hitting her lips unbidden, before he moved it down. He reached her entrance and glided his finger around, feeling, trying to find his way.

            “So wet,” he whispered reverently, his gaze intense as he met her eyes. He looked almost the same way he looked when he was about to devour a soul, so full of desire, and it made her shudder at the implications. 

            He let his finger inch inside of her and Maka bucked against his hand at the feel, a moan torn from her at the feel of something so foreign and _right_ where only her own fingers had ventured before. But she wanted more, so much more. She writhed as he began to move his finger around, crooking, exploring, feeling her textured walls as if he would memorize them, before finally sliding it back out and in again, and out and in yet again.  She whimpered at the feel of it, felt herself tighten around the digit, so much, not nearly enough.

            “More,” she gasped, and suddenly, there were two fingers where there had been one and she was crying his name again at the feel, so delicious, of his fingers moving within her.  It wasn’t what she had meant, but she had lost the words to say it.  The meister used her hand instead, inching towards his throbbing erection to grasp it.

            “More,” she repeated insistently, but her weapon shook his head, something like conflict crossing his face.

            “N—not yet, okay—I—not yet,” he insisted, grabbing her hand on him with his free hand on her thigh and moving it up.  Maka pulled that hand to her sex instead, guiding his finger to her throbbing clit and gasping as she felt his touch beneath her own.

            She removed her hand, fisting both in the bedcovers as he took her cue, moving his index finger against her clit in time with the pumping of his fingers in and out, in and out, a careful rhythm.  She was soon, very soon, reduced to a sobbing mess, his name the only word she remembered, and she cried it out as she finally came, briefly forgetting her purpose in the sheer pleasure of it.

            Soul finally stilled his fingers, looking down at her in something like awe as she lay flushed on the bed.  But as good as it had felt, it wasn’t enough.  Maka still wanted, no _needed_ , more. She wanted all of him, wanted to feel all of him, wanted to hear him cry her name wantonly.  She removed her hands from the bedcovers and tugged at his arms, tugging him back on top of her to kiss him again.  He kissed her back desperately and his own sheer need was palpable, his soul overwhelming her own with the sheer power of it, the near insanity of his lust for her.  She ran her hands down his back, tugging him closer, even as she snaked a hand around to touch his hardness again, whispering “please” against his lips. She felt his need, felt her own, wanted this so badly.  They had almost lost their chance—she would not lose another.  One hand tangled in her hair as the other steadied him on the bed, he kissed her more deeply, sliding his length cautiously over her slit, so hot and hard and near that she shivered and thrust her hips against him. Her growled in response and pressed down, his cock slipping between her folds to press against her swollen clit. They both gasped at the contact, and he slid down, tracing the path his fingers had taken before to find her hot, wet entrance, that place he now knew for certain would give way to him.

            He hesitated, pulled back from the kiss to look down at her. There was concern there, but she would have none of it, not now.

            “Please,” Maka rasped again, moving her hips forward to take in his tip. He groaned and moved back down to kiss her again, his tongue sliding against hers insistently even as he began to push himself slowly, so achingly slowly, inside of her. There was the pressure of being filled, but no pain, only an overwhelming tingling, like electricity, like life itself, where he filled her, and as he finally took her wholly, his skin hot against hers, her womanhood surrounding him entirely, for the first time in her life, she felt truly whole.  They lay there, joined, for but a moment before the desire, the insanity of need, took them completely, and Soul began to move, pulling back to thrust into her, over and over again, the feel of him, as she tightened around him, as she felt every ridge of him so hot and hard and wonderful, beyond anything she had ever imagined.  His movements at first were erratic and awkward, but she didn’t care, it felt so good and right. She wrapped her legs around him, moved her hands to his rear, bucked against him as they found a rhythm together. He was a musician, after all.  Finding their rhythm was almost instinctual; he knew her soul deep, and now, he played their song inside of her.  She wanted all of him, and she had it. She gripped him tighter, wanting to make sure she felt every last bit of his heat. 

            Eventually they broke their kiss, his head buried into her shoulder as he thrust inside of her over and over again, his moans loud and hot in her ear, her answering wails rising in pitch.  He was pounding into her with a force wrought of sheer desperation, grunting her name with every thrust like a chant, like a prayer, her answering sobs of his name driving his frenzy. Maka felt a familiar coil of heat and pressure in her womb, felt it mounting with an intensity that was new and almost frightening, and her movements became more frantic, her moans louder.  Soul responded again and again with her name, the sound of his voice, his name on her lips in pure ecstasy like a drug, wrapping her in his pleasure, wrapping her in her own. When he came it was to another strangled cry of her name, louder than any before it, and as she felt him twitch inside of her, felt his hot seed so deep within her, it sent her over the edge in her own wail of his name.  The sheer pleasure took her entire body in wave after wave, more intense than anything she had ever felt, and it took her some time for it to pass as she shuddered beneath him.  He collapsed on top of her, both of them utterly spent, panting, sated, completely content.

            They remained that way for some minutes, Maka reveling in the feel of her womb still pulsing faintly in the aftermath, in the feel of him, warm and heavy on top of her, in his softening manhood still inside of her, still connecting them. Finally, her weapon whispered the words she had cut off earlier against her neck.

            “I love you.”  It was soft but insistent.

            “I know,’ she breathed.

            He pulled his head back to look at her, grinning.

            “What are you now, Han Solo?”

            “I did shoot first,” the meister quipped, returning his smile.

            “So you did.”  His grin widened.

            “I love you, too.  Idiot.”

            “Better.” His smile softened and he bent to kiss her nose before resting his head again in the crook of her neck, sighing in contentment, the fear and desperation banished for the moment. They were so close, she was so sated, it felt so good and _right,_ that she might have been happy to lay this way forever, but they were on top of the covers and facing the wrong way, and Maka felt an overwhelming stickiness between her legs that, much as it was hers and his and a part of what they had just done together, she still wanted to clean before she slept, so she moved underneath him, trying to slide away. He burrowed further into her in protest.

            “Nuh uh.  I’m comfortable.”

            “Too bad, I want to—um—clean up.”

            “Oh—I—alright, I guess.”  He shot up, scrubbing the back of his neck nervously.  She slid off the bed, using her discarded sleep shorts to clean herself. Soul grabbed them as she handed them over and used them to clean himself before eyeing them, his look speculative.

            “We, um, I mean I—we should have probably used something.  I’m—“

            “It’s fine, Soul.  I’ve been on the pill since I was fourteen.”

            “Since—fourteen?” his jaw dropped.

            “To regulate my period, asshole.” Maka elbowed him in annoyance.

            “Oh—um—cool,” he grinned sheepishly as they both crawled back into bed, him laying against her back and molding himself to her.  She felt warm and safe and sated with his arm slung over her middle, pulling her close.  He pressed a few soft kisses to her neck and hair and she sighed, enjoying the feel of it all. This, _this_ was life.  It was all she needed, all she would ever want.

            “You know,” he said, hot against her ear.  “You say you don’t understand music, but your voice, just now, was the best music I’ve ever heard.”  She flushed, but nuzzled closer against him, smiling. 

            “I guess you taught me something new, then.  First time for everything.”

            “Nah, we taught each other.  I’m—uh—looking forward to the next lesson.”

            “Me too,” she admitted, though she couldn’t help the renewed flush that spread over her skin at her words, part embarrassment, part desire.

            Snuggled closely, they soon drifted off to sleep.  They would make love again in the morning, insatiable, and countless times after, the insanity of their need for one another never abating.

            Sometimes, insanity was no bad thing, and though it had been wrought of fear and desperation, neither would ever regret this particular form of madness.


	4. Loyalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not wanting to be the one to hold her weapon back, Maka pushes Soul to ask someone on a date and is surprised by the result.

            As she lingered on the steps, observing for the twentieth or thirtieth time at the least, the same scene, she wondered why it always happened the same way. Each time, the girl would approach, young, and pretty, bouncy and full of giggly nervousness mixt with a sort of giddy boldness.  The girl’s soul would always be so full of anticipation and want as she asked her question—will you? Won’t you?  Please pick me? 

            Next would come the headshake and whatever words he spoke with it—not interested, sorry.  His soul was always full of something like regret, she could feel it closely through their constant bond, and it was that which gave her pause; it was that that finally had her coming to a decision.  If there was regret, then it was her fault, and she would not hold him back.  She refused to be a weight around anyone’s neck, least of all her own weapon’s, refused, utterly refused, to be his albatross.

            Because surely, if there was regret, then he was doing this for her. It’s not like she couldn’t connect the dots, hadn’t known, somewhere in the back of her mind, that the reason he had never, not once, dated in spite of countless girls, pretty girls, beautiful girls, throwing themselves at him, was because of her.  But once she’d finally realized it consciously, she had resolved to do something about it.  She was broken. She knew that. Her stupid Mama and Papa and their horrible, horrible marriage had broken her, and Soul knew it too, and he was trying to spare her feelings when he turned down girl after girl. They had been partners for so long, best friends for so long, that he could read what it would do to her if he started dating even before it happened, knew it would make her uncomfortable, unhappy even.   He was loyal to a fault, so loyal that he would turn down girls he was actually interested in just to spare her silly little feelings.  Because it _was_ silly. Soul was her weapon—and that was all he was ever going to be.  He had no romantic inclination towards her, he’d made her lack of physical appeal clear enough, so why _shouldn’t_ he date a girl he was actually attracted to?  Why shouldn’t he try to find someone to make him happy?           

            No, Maka wouldn’t be the one to hold him back.  No matter how much it hurt, she wouldn’t.  It was so strange to consider.  Here was a weapon so loyal to her that he would reject other girls to keep her from being upset, reject his chance at love for her, even though his own interest in his meister was almost painfully platonic.  When she held him up to her Papa, the deathscythe she had wished so desperately to surpass when creating her own, there was no comparison; the man hadn’t even been able to stay loyal to his wife, couldn’t even stop sleeping around to ease his daughter’s troubled soul—there was no way he would have reigned in his passions for a mere partner.  Yet Soul would.  Soul _was_.  She had forged the better death scythe, had found a better partner than her Mama could ever have dreamt of, someone perfectly, ridiculously loyal. If only she had his heart as well as his loyalty, she might have had a chance at happiness.

            But she didn’t, and she wouldn’t destroy his chance, refused to be that selfish and needy, so here she was, watching, waiting for it to be over. This time, the girl was a short, bubbly looking redhead, cute and curvy, and she must have had some fight in her because instead of just slinking away in barely restrained tears as most of his fangirls tended to do, she was standing, fists clenched, arguing with him. Maka couldn’t make out their words, but the impressions in their wavelengths were clear enough. The girl was hurt, confused, incredulous. And Soul?  His regret had quickly turned to anger and, after several words, angry words, however calmly they might have been spoken, words Maka still could not hear, the girl screamed her frustration and smacked him clear across the face before storming off.

            Maka waited, giving him a chance to cool down.  She felt like some sort of creepy stalker, but they went home together—it wasn’t like there was much of a choice. Normally, when these things happened, Soul took it stoically enough, brushing it off as he brushed so much off. This time, though, he sat heavily on the steps and put his head in his hands.  School had been out for awhile yet, the scythe meister had needed to stay late to get some books from the library and Soul had volunteered to wait around as he generally did, so the girl who had recently stormed off must have waited for him to appear.  In some ways, it showed a fair bit of insight into her partner’s character—he was far more likely to talk without a crowd around.  Then again, maybe she just hadn’t wanted a crowd either.

            A few minutes later, Maka finally slid out from behind the wall she’d been behind and made her way down the steps to sit beside him, not close enough to touch, but only just.  He had raised his head from his hands at her approach and now had his cheek rested in one palm, elbow propped on a knee. 

            “Hey,” she offered lightly.

            “Hey. Was wondering when you were gonna come outta hiding.”

            “I wasn’t hiding, just giving you space.  Was that girl from the NOT class?”

            “EAT, year down.”

            “Ah. Well, you must have really said something rude to piss her off that badly.”

            Soul’s only response was a snort. 

            “What?” Maka narrowed her eyes. “You know, Soul, you don’t have to be a jerk to those girls.”

            “I’m not, usually.  She just—asked for it.”

            “I’m sure she—“

            “Trust me, okay?  And anyway, I wasn’t rude. I just told her the truth. Can’t help it if she didn’t wanna hear it.”

            Maka sighed.  “She hit you pretty hard. You alright?”  She tentatively reached a hand out to touch the still inflamed red mark on his cheek. 

            “’M fine,” he insisted, though he didn’t shy away from her touch. “Had worse.”  He grinned at her pointedly and she just as pointedly huffed, refusing to dignify the dig with an answer. 

            “She was very pretty, and she had some backbone—most of them just run away,” she finally commented.

            “Most of them?”  He looked at her sidelong.

            “It happens a lot, Soul.  Of course I’ve seen it before.  Usually when I’m coming to meet you.”

            “Mph,” he grunted, shaking his head. 

            “You could have given her a chance.” The meister straightened herself, stiffening her posture, preparing for the fight she knew was coming.

            “Not interested,” he grumbled, slouching lower. “She was a bitch.”

            “Why, what did she say?”  It was odd for Soul to call any woman a bitch; despite his cool guy façade, or maybe even because of it, there was something within him far too respectful for that. Tease her though he might, he never stooped to using such words with her. It gave Maka pause, sent off alarm bells.

            “Doesn’t matter.  She’s not my type, okay?” She noticed he had clenched a fist and was pointedly not looking at her.  Yeah, this one had really gotten to him.  Realizing she wasn’t getting anywhere this way—not even close—she decided to try another tact.           

            “So she’s not your type. Some of them must be, right?”

            “No,” he shrugged, still gazing at the city below.

            “Well, maybe if you gave one of them a chance, you’d be surprised,” she forced on a bright smile, tilting her head to try to catch his attention.

            Soul had been looking at his hands, slumped over, but suddenly, he sat up straighter and focused the full intensity of his gaze on her, red eyes blazing.

            “Do you _want_ me to go out with some random girl?”  He sounded incredulous.

            “I just want you to be happy.”  Maka’s smile faltered, the false mask crumbling beneath his heated stare.

            “Easy enough.  Leave me the fuck alone about this and I’ll be pleased as fucking punch.”

            “You know what I mean,” she huffed unhappily.  “I want you to be able to find someone, date like a normal teenager, you know?”

            “No, I don’t know.  I told you, those girls aren’t my type and some fangirl sure as shit isn’t going to make me ‘happy’.”

            “That’s ridiculous, Soul.  There have been dozens; even you can’t be _that_ picky.  Look, I know you’re worried you’ll hurt my feelings if you date or whatever, but don’t be, okay? You should give someone a chance.”

            “No,” he said flatly.

            This wasn’t working, clearly.  Getting up off the stairs, the scythe meister looked down at hew weapon. They couldn’t sit here forever—they should at least start walking.

            “You coming?  I’d like to get home so we can start dinner.”

            “Yeah,” Soul said shortly, getting up to walk next to her, shoving his hands into his pockets sulkily.  Maka waited until they cleared the steps of the school before speaking again, hoping that farther away from the likelihood of chance encounters with other students, he might be more receptive.

            “So maybe those fangirls aren’t your type,” she began again after they’d walked for a few minutes. “I get that, but I’m sure there must be some girls in this school you like.  Maybe you could ask someone—“

            “No,” he said again, but this time, his voice was tinged with anger. They were both staring ahead, both unhappy for different reasons.  “I’m not going to ask some girl out.  If I wanted to, I would.  We have enough shit to worry about and I really don’t—“

            “But you aren’t denying you’re interested in someone, right?” the meister pushed, cutting him off. 

            “What about you?” The weapon shook his head, looking at her pointedly for the barest instant before returning his gaze to the sidewalk in front of them. “Why don’t you date?”

            “Stupid question, Soul, and you know it.”  Her mouth flattened into an angry line.

            “Well, so was yours.  I don’t date because I don’t want to date.” 

            Oh yes, he was angry.  Maka didn’t quite get it; she knew he was a private person, knew he’d be resistant, but ultimately, she had figured he’d be relieved to have this come from her, to get her endorsement, to not have to be so damned loyal. 

            “…because you’re afraid it will upset me.”

            “No, because there is no one I want to date,” he gritted out.

            “No one?”  It was her turn to be incredulous.  “In this entire school, there isn’t one girl you’re interested in—Soul that’s—“

            “I didn’t say that,” he turned to her, gaze intense, and she met it, challenging him to continue.  “I said there was no one I want to date.”

            “So there _is_ someone you’re interested in,” Maka responded with forced enthusiasm before looking away, because the truth was, as much as she might be nearing her goal of getting her weapon to act, to actually date someone, or at least try to date someone, it did hurt to think about.

            “Just drop it, Maka,” her weapon said with a sigh, pulling one hand out of a pocket to scrub through his hair.

            “No, I won’t drop it.  I want you to be happy, and maybe this girl could—“ She clenched her fists. Why was he being so stubborn? Why was he making her push so hard when it hurt so much?  Why couldn’t he just—just—

            “This girl,” he said that first part with venom and Maka was taken aback, “isn’t interested.  She’s never gonna be interested.”

            “How can you know that if you haven’t asked her?”  It made no sense.  Sure, there had been a time when people looked on the demon scythe with fear, a few times, really, but not anymore.  Since the battle on the moon, there were few people the scythe meister could think of who would deny her weapon a date, and most of them were in their close circle.  Oh—oh no—could he have fallen for one of their friends? She felt her chest clench; why was that thought so much worse than the idea of him with some nameless, faceless fangirl?

            “I just do,” he said with an exasperated sigh.

            “Well, maybe if you told me who it is, I could—“ Maka kept pushing. It hurt, but she couldn’t let this drop, it was too important.  She had her partner on the ropes and she knew it. 

            “Maka, drop it.  I’m serious.” Soul’s eyes had narrowed dangerously, his voice tight with barely contained rage.  She didn’t understand it.  She was trying to help him—she was trying to help him at the expense of her own feelings, her own heart, and this was how he acted?

            “I very seriously doubt this girl would turn you down if you asked her for a date. One date.  Half the girls in the damned school have a crush on you, Soul, and of the other half, very few would say no to giving it a try. You’re making excuses.”

            “And you aren’t?  You never answered my question.” His voice was low.

            “Because it was a stupid question.”            She rolled her eyes.

            “Speaking of excuses.”  He laughed, but the sound was bitter.

            “You know why, Soul.  I—I can’t trust people, okay?  Someday, maybe, but—“

            “And that’s not an excuse?” He cut her off.

            “No—it’s the truth.  But you? If you have someone you like…” He would not change the subject, Maka wouldn’t let him. He would not wriggle out of this if it killed them both.

            “Doesn’t matter how much I like her. Doesn’t matter if I love her. I told you,  she’s not interested. She doesn’t see me that way, doesn’t see anyone that way.  You of all people should get that.”   

            The scythe meister just shook her head, refusing to believe it possible. Sure, she had trust issues, and sure, she might not want to date anyone, or at least, not anyone who actually wanted to date her, but she didn’t exactly have suitors knocking at her door, either.  So maybe this girl was sort of like her. 

            “Well, even if that’s the case, it couldn’t hurt to ask her, Soul.”

            “You know what?  Fine.” He reached out suddenly to grab her elbow and as he pulled her to a stop, she spun to face him.

            “Really? You—You’ll try?” Maka tried to force excitement into her voice, plastering on a bright smile when all she could feel was a knot at the pit of her stomach.  Her weapon still looked so angry, though, that she almost wanted to step back. He was practically seething.

            “If this is what it takes for you to drop this, then fine, whatever.” Soul stepped forward, looming over her.

            “O—okay. We should—“

            “Maka,” he said, taking in a deep breath, seemingly trying to calm himself. His wavelength was all over the place and she could sense anger and fear and it made no sense to her at all. She began to step back, to give herself space to figure out what was wrong, but he grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

            “Maka,” her partner said again, looking at her intently.  “Wanna go somewhere?  Like, to a movie or something?  Maybe this Friday?”

            “Wha?” Her mouth was hanging open, so she closed it.  “Uh, Friday is, um, pizza night, and I thought we were going to—“

            “I’m asking you to go to a movie.  With me. Because that’s what you told me to do. You told me to ask this girl out, so I’m asking her out.  So now you can Maka chop me and we can get the fuck on with our lives, okay?” He was livid.  He was a wreck.  He was terrified.  Maka could feel it all in his wavelength.  Her. He had been talking about her—all this time the reason he hadn’t—it really was her. 

            “I—you—we—“ she tried to stammer out, unsure.  She couldn’t take the intensity of his gaze, so she dropped her own.

            “Look, I told you, I know you aren’t interested.  I was never gonna bother you, but you just wouldn’t—and you, wanting me to give girls like that a chance—girls like that, who spout bullshit—fuck that.  You are the only girl I want, okay, but I know you don’t feel the same way and it’s fine, it’s cool, this won’t come up again so just—can we drop this now?”

            “No,” she managed to force out, her feelings overwhelming her.

            “Maka, please—“ and suddenly the deathscythe sounded so frightened that she lifted her eyes to meet his again.

            “No,” she repeated, cutting him off.   The scythe meister could feel her face flushing as she continued. “We can’t drop this because—um—because I’d like that.  To go to a movie, I mean.  With you. If you—uh—meant it.”

            What could only be described as a look of despair on his face quickly flipped into something like elation.  She had seen Soul happy, truly happy, so seldom, but the soft, dumbstruck, hopeful little smile he was currently directing her way, a smile so rare and beautiful that it made her want to throw her arms around him, was making her stomach flutter uncontrollably.

            “Yeah, I meant it.  Don’t care about a movie,” he smiled wider.  “But I do care about you.  Never gave a shit about any of those girls, Maka.  Never looked twice because you are the only girl I’ve wanted to look at for a long, long time now. So anywhere you wanna go, we can go. Anything you wanna do, we can do, just as long as it’s with you.” 

            He had turned as red as she must be, and this time, she didn’t refrain from throwing her arms around him, and for his part, he pulled her in close, resting his head on her own as she buried it into his chest.

            “Always,” she murmured.  “I always want you with me.” 

            Soul tightened his arms around her, breathing into her hair. “As long as you’ll have me, as long as you want me, I’ll be here.  Right here.”            

            They just stood there for a long time, in the middle of the sidewalk, ignoring the people who passed, ignoring the world, just soaking in this change, this strange, familiar, wonderful thing that was _them,_ _together._ Because it was new and frightening and old and very much like going home for the first time.

            After a short while, Maka finally spoke again into his chest, her curiosity getting the better of her.

            “So, uh, what did that girl say?”  Her voice was hesitant.

            “Nothing worth repeating,” her weapon said with a sigh.

            “Soul…” her tone was a warning.

            “She was a bitch, okay?” his voice was tinged with anger again. “She said she knew I was holding a torch for you, that that was why I kept turning her and everyone else down, but that I should just drop you like the loser you were and go with her.”

            “Oh. Well, she was hurt, I guess. What did you tell her that set her off at the end?”

            Soul shrugged, she felt it in the shifting of his chest. “Just that I wouldn’t look twice at her if she was the last chick on earth, and that she wasn’t even fit to lick your shoe clean.”

            Maka gasped and then giggled against his chest, “You didn’t.”

            “I did.  It was the truth, like I said.”

            “But you didn’t deny what she said.  About you and me.”

            Another shrug.  “That was true, too.”

            “I’m glad,” she moved away from his chest to look up at him with a small smile.

            “That I told her off?” He looked genuinely surprised.

            “No, that it’s the truth.  I’m—really glad.” Her smile widened even as she blushed, and then she buried her head back into his chest.

            “Me too,” he said softly, pulling her even closer.

            They stayed holding each other but a few moments more before Maka finally, reluctantly, wriggled out of his arms, clasping one of his hands in hers and tugging him forward.

            “We should get home.  After all, it’s only two days until Friday and we have a first date to plan.”

            “Yeah,” he grinned at her.  “Guess we do. Cool.” 

            As they walked together, holding hands as they so often did, Maka couldn’t wipe the smile off of her face.  She was glad, very glad, he was so loyal, that he had had no interest in other girls even when he thought her beyond his reach. 

            A scant thirty minutes ago, she had been ready to push him into the arms of another, and yet now, unbelievably, he was hers, truly wholly hers. Now, unbelievably, that happiness Maka had so long thought out of her reach might just be possible for both of them. He wasn’t her Papa, he was her _Soul_ , her weapon, her best friend, her partner, her long time secret crush, and apparently, her boyfriend now as well. The meister knew that this new thing, as everything, would not always be easy, but if it was with him, then they would make it work.  Together.


	5. Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ox and Maka end up at odds every time Spartoi gets together, and Soul isn't going to take it anymore.

 

 

            It wasn’t as if they hadn’t been there before, countless times, him on the couch, her hovering over him with peroxide on a cotton swab, dabbing carefully first at his split lip, then the cut on his cheek and, finally, the gash over his eye.

            “I’m surprised it’s not worse,” she murmured, shaking her head. “Ox is pretty good in a fight.”

            “Yeah, well, he didn’t have as much at stake as I do,” Soul mumbled back, looking down at his hands.  The knuckles on his right fist were split wide, oozing blood and pus. 

            “I’m sure he’d disagree.  When he wakes up, that is,” she moved the peroxide soaked pad to swipe at his split knuckles and he winced slightly. 

            “That’s just ‘cause he doesn’t fucking know any better,” Soul looked up at her. “You know I had to.”

            Maka didn’t respond right away, instead grabbing some Neosporin with a slight shake of the head.  But damnit, Soul knew he was right, and somewhere in that thick skull of hers, his meister had to know it, too.

 

 

 

            It all started earlier that day.  Kid had decided to hold a party and invite the old members of Spartoi in order to celebrate the spring equinox, probably at his weapons’ urging. Only, the day turned out to be unseasonably chilly, and what had been meant to be a pool party remained largely indoors.

            They were all older now, all busy with missions and their own lives. Sure, they saw each other, sure, they got together, but rarely all in the same place.  Maka had been excited at the prospect of seeing all of their friends and had bought a new sundress for the occasion.  For his part, Soul enjoyed how the dress showed off her legs and hugged her modest curves in all the right places (and let’s face it, who knew how much longer he’d be able to admire said curves,) and had been pleased enough at the prospect of getting to watch his new wife in her element all afternoon that he had hardly grumbled at all over having to go to a party.

            That was when he’d thought it was going to be sunny, that they would be spread out. Instead, they were all together in Kid’s recroom, shoveling down snacks and drinks and engaging in light conversation—just the type of thing that tended to make Soul absolutely stir crazy. 

            Worse yet, Ox and Maka were playing their game again.  He fucking hated that game.  It had started out as Maka and Ox just being Maka and Ox, years ago, each trying to make the other look like an idiot by attempting to stump them with factual questions that tended to become increasingly ridiculous and obscure—things like how fast can a Cheetah run eventually escalating into what is the value of Pi to 13 digits.  Black*Star had taken to calling their little exchanges “Stump the Chump,” and eventually, with the meddling of others, it had developed into a real game with real rules that the rival meisters inevitably engaged in _every damned time they were together,_ but that others would occasionally play as well. 

            Most of the time when they played, Soul would watch from a distance with the occasional amused eye roll at the antics of his meister.  However, things were different now, and his amusement had long since turned to annoyance as things became heated.  Tucked into a cushiony corner chair next to the equally antisocial Harvar, who was watching the exchange between his own meister and Maka with typically bored disdain, Soul was becoming increasingly agitated. He clenched his fist, his eyes narrowing.  Why couldn’t the damned spear meister just lay the fuck off for once?  He knew the man had been on edge since he and Kim had finally called it off three months ago and Kim had quickly replaced him in her bed with her own weapon, but fuck, couldn’t he keep it together?  Couldn’t he tell that now wasn’t the Death damned time?

            “Calm down, Eater.  They’re always like this. Didn’t think a ring on your finger was going to make you go all overprotective douche.”

            “I am calm,” the scythe snapped.  Harvar needed to mind his own fucking business, or better yet, keep his idiot mesiter from acting like a complete asshole. 

            “Sure,” Harvar rolled his eyes but didn’t comment further, instead getting up to walk towards the small wet bar in the corner, presumably to grab another beer.

            Soul just ignored him, his attention focused on his meister and her opponent; the apathetic lightening spear      really wasn’t his concern at the moment.  The deathscythe clenched his other fist.  Things were definitely escalating in the middle of the room and he didn’t like it—he didn’t like it one little bit.

            “Wrong!” Ox’s voice rang out triumphantly, his smile smug from his place seated across from Maka.  “Ringo Starr was the drummer of a multi-number one hit band who went on to have multiple number one hits as a lead singer!”

            “That _might_ be true, Ox, but Dave Grohl was also a drummer of a multi-number one hit band who went on to have multiple number one hits as the lead singer of the Foo Fighters.”

            “Okay, _first_ of all, Dave Grohl sounds like a made up name, and second, Foo Fighters sounds like an equally made up band name.  You’re reaching, Albarn. Ringo Starr _is_ the right answer. You lost this round. Time to move—“

            “LIKE HELL I DID!”  Maka stood up, fists on her hips, glaring down at Ox.  “I’m _RIGHT!”_  

            “No,” Ox stood, unwilling to be looked down upon, his smile still smug. “ _I’m_ right.  As usual, I might add—“

            Maka was seething, Soul could see it and it had _him_ seething.  Ox had obviously studied up on pop music in an attempt to stump the chronically unmusical rival meister, but he hadn’t—because while Ox was right, so was Maka. The weapon didn’t know how she had known that little tidbit, but nonetheless, she really was right.

            “Fuck off, Ox.  I got this one _.  Âsk the next question_. _”_

“No,” he stepped closer. “You ask the next question, Albarn.“

            “It’s _Albarn-Evans_ now, asshole. And it’s still your ask.”

            It was spiraling out of control.  He could tell, could sense, that she was about to strike, and it would all go to shit from there, and fuck it all, he wasn’t having it.  Fucking Ox had this coming for being an asshole, for provoking her given—well everything—so Soul sprang and struck, leaping over to where they stood, nose to nose, and tackling the spear meister to the floor, slamming his fist in his face in the process.           

            The deathscythe could feel the hush in the room, Black*Star screaming “Fight!” as Soul pinned Ox to the ground, the spear meister punching and catching him first in the eye, then in the cheek, last on the lip, to try to get the infuriated weapon off of him.

            Finally managing a kick to the groin, the meister rolled him, getting on top of the scythe and looking down at the him, indignant.

            “What was _that,_ Eater?” the bald man spat down at him.  “Just calm down, your little lady friend is fully capable—“

            It took everything in him not to transform his arm into a blade. This bastard _—this fucking bastard._ Soul kicked up into his groin, turn about being fair play, and flipped them again, snarling down at him, hammering him in the head once, twice, a third time.

            “She’s not my ‘lady friend’, she’s my fucking _wife,_ and _she was fucking_ right you—“

            He felt a hand grab his wrist before he could land another punch and growled up at the culprit, only to find said wife looking down at him, clearly somewhat stunned. 

            “Soul—enough. You knocked him out. Honor defended or—whatever you were trying to prove,” she said quietly.  He could tell she was surprised and maybe a little angry.  She tugged at his wrist and, with a last look at Ox, bloodied on the floor beneath him and clearly unconscious, Soul got up and shook his head.

            “Sorry,” he said for no one but his meister, ignoring the stunned stares of their friends and the sound of Black*Star muttering to Kilik “Damn, he kicked his _ass._ ”  Kim rushed over to take the deathscythe’s place; they might not be dating anymore, but she and Ox were still friendly and she _was_ a healer, so she must have wanted to tend to him. Frankly, Soul couldn’t have given a shit less.  The asshole would live and he had fucking earned it _._

            He turned to the still staring group.  “We’re going.  Come on, Maka,” the weapon tugged at his meister’s hand and she followed.  Still too stunned to protest, or perhaps thinking it for the best, she shook her head and called back a profuse apology as they left.

 

 

 

            And that had led them to here and now, with Maka tending his wounds and him sulking at her chastising tone. She had just finished bandaging his cuts and was looking down at him, lips pursed in thought.

            “No, really Soul, I don’t know,” she said after a long pause. “I don’t know at all.”

            “Yes, you do,” he insisted calmly, firmly.  “Look,” he pulled on her hand, pulled her down onto his lap so that they were eye level, “it’s not just you anymore, and I’m not letting anything happen to put that in danger.”

            Maka sighed and shook her head, running one hand over his bandaged cuts softly as she met his gaze.  “Soul, Ox didn’t know, and anyway, I’m pregnant, not dying.  Nothing was going to happen to the baby, okay?  Ox would never really hurt me, you know that, and I can take care of myself.” He was about to protest, but she put two fingers to his lips to stop him.

            “Aside from which, we’ll still be going on missions for awhile yet, so you’d damned well better get used to me being in danger.  I won’t have you playing human shield like when we were kids, Soul. I won’t.  I can’t.”   She was looking at him intently, her voice quiet. 

            The meister moved her fingers aside to let him speak, but what could he say to that? Soul knew she was right, to a point, and yet—the thought of anything happening to her or the baby sent him instantly over the edge.  He had always been so good at tamping down his emotions, keeping them in line, keeping a cool head.  But when it came to this, to her carrying _their child_ , he couldn’t.  Instinct, raw and forceful, took over, and all he wanted to do was make sure she was safe, that they both were.  He’d have to figure out a way to keep it in check because that type of hotheaded idiocy really could get them killed on a mission—a kishin egg wasn’t Ox, and one mistake could be fatal.  He knew that; he’d known it for a long time, now, ever since first Blair and then Crona had taught them both the hard way. 

            “I’m sorry,” the deathscythe moved a hand up to stroke his wife’s hair, to sooth her.  “I—look—I know I can’t do that shit.  I do. I just—you and the baby, you’re the most important things in my life and I—I can’t help it that I just wanna protect you, to make sure you’re safe.  But—it’s uncool—I know it’s uncool, and I’ll try to keep it together, I promise.” He put his forehead to hers, giving her time to let his words take hold, to see how she would react. When Maka said nothing, only snaking her arms around him in a hug, he let himself enjoy the closeness for a moment more before pulling his head back again to look at her. “

            “Though you have to admit,” he was grinning at her suddenly. “Ox _did_ deserve it.  You were about to deck him yourself, you know you were.”

            “Maybe,” she smiled back.  “And I will confess that watching you nail his smug face was just the tiniest bit satisfying, but still, you _did_ go a little overboard.”

            Soul shrugged, his smile becoming a bit sheepish.  “Yeah, okay, I know.”

            “You should probably apologize to Ox,” his meister added.

            “Probably,” he sighed.  “Not for hitting him, but for pummeling his lights out, yeah.”

            He rested his forehead on hers for a second time before pulling her closer onto his lap and wrapping his arms around her.  She complied instantly, nuzzling against his chest without protest as he began to stroke her hair again.

            “Maka?” he asked suddenly.

            “Hmmm?”

            “I think maybe we should tell people.”

            “Maybe. Though I’m sure Stein and Kid know already. But you’re probably right,” she admitted with a sigh, “we’ll be to the second trimester soon—we should let people know.”

            Soul felt relief that, for once, Maka hadn’t argued.  If everybody knew, hopefully they wouldn’t get the hardest missions anymore and people would be a little more careful about provoking his wife. And if they weren’t, well, at least he’d feel fully justified in knocking them cold. 


	6. Bandages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Soul gets into a fight at school, Maka comes up with the perfect punishment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This is rated NSFW/MA for language and graphic sexual situations. It is unabashed Smut Eater. On the front end, there is misogynistic language, and on the back end, light bondage and dominance. You have been warned.

            He was in trouble and he knew it.  She would have heard by now, and when she came through their front door in a few minutes, she would be pissed, because what business did he have picking fights with underclassmen anyway?  They were on the cusp of graduating and the scythe hadn’t been in a fight at school that wasn’t mandatory since he had been stupidly dragged into Star’s bout with Kid years ago, and yet, here he was, with a throbbing bruise and cut on his cheek, awaiting his doom at the hands of what he was certain would be a livid meister/girlfriend.  

            Soul had never been one for fights, had never been one to lose his head, especially not since the black blood had forced him to keep an iron fist on his impulses, but even he had limits, even he wasn’t above sheer rage, and those assholes had kindled it in spades.  He knew that Maka would blame him, but she shouldn’t, she really shouldn’t. He rubbed his bruised cheek absently, rubbed the cut under his eye.  Fucking sucker punch was what that was.  Fucking demon dagger asshole.  Well, the deathscythe smiled to himself, he was unconscious in the infirmary for his efforts and, pissed off meister or no, he’d do it again, he’d do it every bloody time because the bastard had deserved it, and he’d be damned if he was going to let a bunch of little shits think that they could talk that way about his meister.

* * *

 

            It happened during one of the few times during the week he and Maka weren’t together. She had meister training, he had weapon training, and he had a free period after, whereas meister training was a double class.  As a general rule, she insisted he just go home—she was fully capable of walking herself. Most days, he didn’t listen and waited for her on the steps anyway, but today, he had gone home rather than face her wrath in front of all and sundry.

            Really, Soul had been minding his own business.  After weapons class, he went to the locker room as he usually did. He had just showered and was about to change back into his Spartoi uniform when he heard them, a group changing a few rows over, their loud voices echoing in the otherwise unoccupied space.

            “—I can do you one better.  I heard Wakazashi saw them coming out of the janitor’s closet, clothes a mess, red as shit. You _know_ he was nailing her against a wall or some shit.”

            “Nah, she was sucking his dick.  Word is she loves to give head.” 

            Hum. Typical macho locker room talk. It was almost always bullshit, generally about some chick they were all pining over who was never gonna give them the time of day.  Not really cool, but he’d heard it all before.  Soul absently wondered who the girl was, or the guy for that matter, but really, it didn’t concern him. 

            He worked on getting dressed, sliding on boxers and then pants as they kept up their banter.  And then he heard something that _did_ concern him.

            “Oh come on, _Eater?_ You know how that asshole gets her all hot.”

            Da fuck?  They couldn’t be talking about—

            “Think about it—prick could have any chick in this fucking school, half of them are ready to drop their panties for the freak if he so much as glances their way, but he chooses _Albarn_ of all people, notorious man hating nerd.  Heard he turned every other bitch down.  You _know_ she was sucking his dick the whole time if he was telling all those chicks to fuck off like that, and she must give fucking amazing head, because damn, some of those girls—“

            Soul’s right fist was clenched painfully now, his shirt, half buttoned, forgotten as he seethed.  How dare they spew that shit about his meister.   The deathscythe tried to relax his fist, to take in a few deep breaths. This was typical asshole guy talk. It didn’t _mean_ anything.  He tried to tune it out, tried to continue buttoning his shirt, but his hands were still shaking with rage.

            “Yeah, but shit man, have you seen the girl’s legs?”

            “Legs, hell, have you seen her fight?  You just _know_ she’d be a wild fuck. No wonder Eater bagged her. That has got to be some grade-A pussy.”

            “Fuck dude, I would so pound that pussy, damn.”

            His shirt was buttoned now, and tucked, sloppily. Soul hurried to get his socks and shoes so he could leave. Keep cool.  He was cool—he needed to keep his cool.  This was stupid high school bullshit and he was a deathscythe. He needed to get out of here.  Someone was going to fucking die if he didn’t get out of here, because he was going to kill some little bastard with his bare hands. 

            “Yeah, man, as if she’d even look your way.”

            “Dude, her old man is Death Scythe.  You know what they say about apples and trees and whatever the fuck. She’s probably banging half the school behind Eater’s back.  Hell, probably sucked half the cock in the city before they ever partnered. I’ll bet she’s a fucking dirty little whore.  She’d totally spread her legs like a filthy little bitch for me if I just—“

            The kid who had been speaking, a redheaded demon dagger from the EAT class down who had a habit of leering at younger girls in the NOT class, whirled suddenly at the low growl behind him, at the sight of his friends’ stunned faces, to find a _very_ angry looking white-haired deathscythe standing only a foot away, fists clenched tightly, red eyes narrowed, too-sharp teeth bared menacingly.  His general dishevelment did not help the aura of sheer _menace_ he gave off in waves as his gaze swept across the lesser weapons to land on the dagger.

            “Pretty sure,” the demon scythe said, voice deceptively calm, “the worst way to get a girl’s attention is to call her a ‘filthy little bitch,’ which is probably why even NOT newbies won’t give you the time of day.”

            “Fuck off, Eater.  No one was talkin’ to you,” the dagger replied with a sneer.  The kid was too stupid to know when to back down.  Well, so much the better.  Soul was pretty eager to pound his face in, and the little asshole kept giving him every reason to do so.

            “But if,” Soul continued, as if the other boy hadn’t spoken, taking a step forward, “you’re lookin’ to gain the attention of her partner, well, I’d say that was about fucking perfect.”

            The demon dagger snorted, all bravado, shaking his head.

            “Albarn really has you pussy whipped, doesn’t she?  Soul Eater, the wannabe cool Last Death Scythe, total fuckin’ tool for his heinous bitch of a meister.”  The other boys were looking to each other uncertainly, clearly wanting the exchange to end, but they closed ranks around the redhead nonetheless, no one wanting to look like a coward or a bastard by abandoning their friend. There were six of them altogether, six EAT weapons from the class down, most of them not particularly impressive from what Soul remembered.  He wished he could say he was about to show them what it _really_ meant to be a death weapon, but he didn’t want an official fight, and honestly, he didn’t want a fight at all.  He just wanted to intimidate the little fuckers a little. If it came to a fight, though, he wouldn’t pull a blade—he definitely wasn’t looking to kill anyone. No, he just wanted to pummel the douchebag dagger’s face raw with his bare fists, to have the satisfaction of swelling shut his damned mouth, because he now recognized that this was the asshole who had been spouting off the most brazen bullshit about his meister.  _Very_ stupid move.  One of the boys behind the dagger put a hand on the redhead’s arm to get his attention, saying quietly, “Jory, maybe we should—” but the dagger shook it off.

            “Come of it, Taran.  You really think Eater here’s gonna do shit?  That cunt meister of his will have his nuts if he does.  Hell, even if he wants a fight, so the fuck what?”   

            Soul sighed suddenly, taking in a deep, calming breath and scrubbing a hand through his hair before turning his eyes to the one called Taran.  He was pretty sure the short, dark haired kid was a demon ax, and the only weapon of the group with real potential if he recalled correctly.  He was also clearly the most level-headed.

            "You think you can keep a lid on your buddy here?  I'd really rather not make this a fight.  Satisfying as it would be to bash this asshole's head in,” he thumbed towards the dagger, “you shits aren't worth my time.  You’re all just lucky I'm a cool guy and not Maka, or hell, even someone like Star or Liz, or your asses would already be on the floor.  I just came over here to remind you little cocks to show a little fucking respect for the meister who saved the world from fucking Asura, not to put anyone in the infirmary, even if he is a total fucking assplug who doesn't know when to shut the fuck—"

            Soul never got to finish as a punch connected with his right cheek.  

            Well, fuck it, he had tried playing nice.  His grin was wide and vicious as he summoned up sound waves to put behind his punch (a trick he had developed recently—one of the more fun perks of being a death scythe) to strike the demon dagger who had just sucker punched him in the head, sending the other boy flying back into the lockers behind him with a sickening crack.  Soul ducked a punch from another guy, but got caught in the stomach by a third, groaning slightly with the impact.  Whirling on that one, he sent his own punch, reinforced with sound waves, into his opponent’s stomach, who flew back over the bench and onto his ass, toppling over a fourth guy who seemed to be trying to decide whether or not to join his friends.  The one who had been about to try for another punch suddenly took a step back and threw up his hands in surrender.  

            Everyone else who was conscious followed suit, and Soul lit his gaze back on the demon ax, who had stayed well out of the brief but violent exchange.  

            "As I was saying, you think you can keep a lid on these assholes?"

            The demon ax nodded, swallowing thickly.  

            "Fan-fucking-tastic.  Now if you bastards’ll excuse me, I have a meister to avoid."

            Soul left then, walking casually over to grab the rest of his crap and make his way out of the locker room. There would be consequences for this, he was sure of it, but not just yet. For now, he was going to go home, maybe catch a basketball game on the tube, and wait for the real shit storm to begin.

* * *

 

            And now, here he was, idly flipping through channels, lounging in his sleep pants and a ratty t-shirt (because he’d gotten blood on his Spartoi uniform and couldn’t be bothered to get into real clothes again,) awaiting judgment. As if on cue, he heard a key in the lock and his judge, jury, and executioner suddenly appeared at the threshold, book bag slung over her shoulders, large red tackle box looking thing in one hand. His meister didn’t look at him, instead shutting the door and locking it behind her before moving purposefully to her room.  A few minutes later she emerged, tackle box still in hand, striding out of her room and over to block his view of the television.  Soul pointedly ignored her.  If he was about to die, he may as well die cool.

            Maka clucked her tongue and set the box that he now recognized as a large, portable first aid kit from the school infirmary, down next to him on the couch, cocking a hand on one hip as she loomed over him.  From where he stared at a point just past her, Soul could easily tell that she had changed into short sleep shorts and a thin tank top, her hair now down around her shoulders.  She probably didn’t want to get blood on her uniform.  Well, hell.

            “Do ya mind?  You make a fuckin’ piss poor window and I was watchin’ somethin’.”  The deathscythe finally moved his eyes up to meet hers, which were already watching him intently.  Oh yeah, he was definitely screwed.

            “You’re watching food network?” she asked incredulously.

            “Uh, yeah?” he answered with a shrug.  Sometimes, when she wasn’t around, he actually would flip to the food channel—some of that shit wasn’t bad—but in this case, it was just the last channel he’d scanned through before she blocked his view. 

            “Whatever,” the scythe meister rolled her eyes.  “Look, I’m going to patch your idiot ass up, and then, we’ll deal with your punishment.” 

            Double fuck.  Like he really needed another Maka chop.  His meister rarely meted out that form of justice these days, not since they’d started dating and—well—doing other things that had lessened the tension between them significantly, but that didn’t mean it never happened. 

            “I’m fine,” he shrugged.”

            “This,” Maka ran a finger down his sore cheek.  “Does not look ‘fine.’” 

            Soul just shrugged again, sullen, but didn’t move as she bent over him to dig through the first aid box, offering him a stunning view beneath her tank top. Well shit, if he were about to die, at least she’d given him a reason to die happy.  She seemed to find what she needed, pulling out a few items to lay out on the table behind her and bending over to arrange them, giving him a new stunning view to contemplate before turning around with peroxide and cotton swabs in hand to dab gently at his wound, focusing on the split beneath his eye. Maka was bending over again, and he found her current ministrations to be ample compensation for the shitstorm he was surely in for in a few minutes.  He might feel differently when it came time for said shitstorm, but at the moment, the weapon was rather content with his lot in life, a fact that was becoming pretty fucking obvious by the increased volume in his sleep pants.

            When the scythe meister was done with the peroxide, which admittedly stung a bit, but which he took with a few manly grunts (at least, he thought they were manly, even if they had edged into the alto range once or twice,) she bent over again, changing his view once more in a way that the scythe wasn’t about to complain about.  Another day, another time, Soul wouldn’t have been able to resist the urge to reach out and squeeze her delectable ass before pulling her onto his lap and seeing about getting an even better show, but today was hardly the day for it, now hardly the time. Instead, he enjoyed these last rites until she turned back around with a tube of Neosporin and a large band-aid in hand.  Slathering the Neosporin generously onto one finger, she applied it to the cut below his eye, bending over again to resume the show, before finally finishing with the bandage. She turned back around one last time to take up her supplies, then bent over to return them to the tackle box, her final act of mercy. 

            When Maka stood back up, looming over him again, one hand cocked on a hip in the same way this little ritual had begun, Soul noticed the long, thick roll of bandages in her other hand and couldn’t help the surprise on his face. This was hardly the type of injury that required such a thing, and the punch to his gut would be a bruise, but nothing serious. 

            “Alright,” she said, looking down at him with a malicious grin that he might have found incredibly sexy in any other circumstances.  “It’s time to administer your punishment.”

            The scythe nodded, swallowing hard, her positioning and the use of her ‘meister voice’ doing absolutely nothing to decrease the volume in his pants in spite of the fact he was utterly screwed right now.  

            In an instant, his meister was straddling his lap, her warm crotch brushing against his arousal deliciously, but he didn’t dare do anything about it as she pulled him forward from his slouch into the couch by the shoulders.

            “Stay put,” Maka growled, and he complied, sitting up flush against her, feeling the press of her small, perfect breasts against his chest. Soul had no idea what she was up to, but fuck, this part was pretty damned hot.  He soon felt her hands grab his to move them behind his back, felt as her fingers began to wind the textured fabric of the bandage around his wrists, binding them together tightly, though not quite painfully, as his entire view was reduced to her hair falling into his face and tickling his nose. After a few minutes of winding the fabric around his wrists from her position on his lap, her wiggling feeling damned good against him, she finally stopped, pulling away and standing above him once again with that same malicious smile.

            “Better,” she said, looking him over once where he still sat upright to keep pressure from his wrists before meeting his eyes.  “Now, then.  _You_ have been a _very_ bad scythe, and it’s time you faced your punishment.   Are you ready?”

            His only response was a nervous nod.  The weapon had no idea what his meister was planning to do to him, and he only hoped he’d survive the night.  The fact that it was hot as all fuck was one he tried and failed to push to the back of his mind.

            “Good. I’m just going to get a bit more comfortable,” she gave him a sultry smile and he swallowed thickly again. Fuck, this was—his eyes practically left their sockets as she stood up to slowly pull the tank top over her head, tossing it on the couch near him.  He couldn’t help that his eyes were glued to her round little breasts, and he shook his head in disbelief at the display.  She ignored him in favor of shimmying down her sleep shorts past her round ass before sitting on the coffee table facing him and pulling them off completely; slowly, torturously slowly, did they make the journey down her long legs, before she kicked them off and met his gaze again, knees spread, a hand on each knee, bare before him.  Years ago, his nose would have spouted volcanically at the sight and he would probably be dead of blood loss already, but now, he felt more blood invade his nether regions, felt his cock strain painfully, and thought he might have an inkling of how she was going to punish him.

            Curse her.  Curse her and her fucking sexiness and—fuck—

            “Well, that’s better.  I think I’ll read a bit before dinner.  Be right back,” she said cheerfully as she rose from her place on the table and stretched languidly, arching her back ever so slightly to push her breasts out enticingly before walking into her room, taking her discarded pajamas with her. Maka emerged moments later with her book and, taking up position before him once more, sat on the coffee table again, planting one foot on either side of him on the couch, leaving her spread before him like the most delicious buffet he had ever seen, one he could look at but never touch. 

            Soul groaned at the straining feeling in his pants, shaking his head slightly, wanting nothing more than to grab her, bend her over that stupid fucking table, and have his way with her.  But he was bound, and it was clear he was to remain bound, so he groaned again and said, “my punishment is blue balls?” 

            She just smiled and shrugged and then began to flip through her book, holding it just below her breasts as she read, offering him a ridiculously enticing view that he could do absolutely nothing about.  Yes, he could have just sprouted a blade and cut himself out, but he wouldn’t—not when she wanted him to stay.  He was nothing if not her obedient weapon when it came right down to it.

            “Fuck,” said weapon groaned, wishing he could place his head in his hands and annoyed at the impossibility.  Soul wanted to avert his eyes, but the sight before him wouldn’t allow it; it was too damned good.  His cock twitched in his pants, practically throbbing at the view, even the fabric brushing against it at the slight motion making him have to stifle a gasp because he was _that_ aroused. When had Maka become so devious? He recalled a time when she had won at basketball and his punishment had been to let Blair dress him for school in drag, remembered when she had made him dye his hair a hideous pink to dress as some anime character for Halloween, claiming the dye was temporary, but failing to let him know of the warning that very light hair might retain the dye longer (his hair had been tinged pinks for _months_ after, it was awful,) recalled, over the course of the six months that their relationship had been physical many, many times that she had left him begging, and realized that she had _always_ been devious; he just hadn’t realized the lengths she could go to, but he should have.  He really should have. He might almost have preferred a Maka chop if this weren’t so _insanely, mind numbingly HOT_ that it was likely to invade his dreams in the most delicious ways for months, if not years, to come. 

            As Maka read, eyes intent on her book, she would occasionally bite her lower lip, worrying at it with her teeth in ways that made Soul want to slam his mouth to hers and show her what real teeth could do.  He thought her breathing was getting heavier, and while he supposed the fact that she was spread naked before her bound lover _might_ be enough to elicit that response, he couldn’t help but to wonder what she was reading.  One glance at the title was enough to tell him everything he needed to know: _Hearts Aflame._   He had once given her a hard time over the smutty little paperback she had borrowed from Liz, and now she was using it against him, taunting him.  Punishment indeed. 

            “Hmmmm…” his meister made a small noise as she read, shifting ever so slightly. Oh yeah, her breathing was definitely getting faster.

            “Readin’ something good?” The weapon finally tried to get her attention.

            “Who said you get to talk?” Maka looked up from her book for the barest instant to meet his eyes and raise her eyebrows, before lowering it again.

            Her reading resumed.  “Mmmm, mmmm hmmm…” she let out, making a small nod as she scanned the page.  She dropped one hand from holding the book, grasping it open one handed and moving the now free hand to rest on her on thigh. That hand slowly started to kneed her thigh unconsciously, inching ever closer to the apex.  Soul couldn’t keep his eyes off the slow, torturous movement of her hand, had to bite his own lip as it finally reached high enough to brush the fine blonde hairs where thigh met womanhood. 

            She began stroking her hairs and Soul almost groaned.  This was—so so so unfair.  Maka pulled her hand back up a moment later, using it to flip the page of her book, before returning it to her small hairs, her fingers slowly inching closer to her slit as she made small, thoughtful little noises at her book. Finally, she slid her index finger into the folds of her slit and made a satisfied little “mmmmm….” at the contact, biting her lip, yet still, never taking her eyes from the book. This just got hotter by the second. Was she—was she going to _pleasure herself_ in front of him?  Oh Death, she was.   How many times had he asked her, begged her to let him watch, and _this_ was how she did it?  Her finger began to wiggle around inside her folds and Soul found himself panting involuntarily just watching, his gaze riveted on her crotch as she slid her finger down further for a few seconds, then back up, watching as it caused moisture to slip from beneath her folds, shiny and fucking hot as hell.  He could have come himself just at the thought of it, and was painfully aware of just how overwhelming his arousal was becoming.  Soul ached to touch his own cock to alleviate some of the pressure, but the bonds prevented him.  Oh fuck yeah she was devious. 

            The meister spread her legs wider, moving her finger faster, more moisture seeping out to coat her outer labia, small moans and stuttered breaths beginning to escape her.  Yet, even still, she kept her eyes on the book, scanning the page.  Then, as her breath was quick and short, as she was rocking her hips seemingly involuntarily, Maka finally put the book down, placing the hand that had been holding it behind her on the coffee table to arch her back. She met his gaze, her own green eyes as aflame as the cheesy title of her book, and let out the dirtiest moan he could ever remember hearing.

            Soul licked dry lips and swallowed hard.

            “Somethin’—I can help you with?” he said a little too hopefully.

            “Mmmm…” Maka smiled, her face flush with what she was doing, her finger still working.  “As nice as that sounds, you’re still being punished.  I’ll just have to take care of my little problem on my own.”  Her smile was wicked, so wicked, as her she continued to work herself with her finger.  Soon, she threw her head back, her eyes slamming shut in pleasure as she let out a long moan of his name— _his fucking name_. Fuck, this was torture, sheer torture. He was going to die, he was going to explode in a mass of hormones and jizz, he was going to implode into a shuddering mess, because all there was was want and want and _want_ and yet, he couldn’t _have_ , couldn’t _touch._

            The meister sat up suddenly, her finger still working, and brought her free hand that had been supporting her up to touch one pert little breast, first palming herself before beginning to pull at her own nipple.  She met his eyes again for a few moments, her smile so seductive that he shuddered, before slamming her eyes shut  as a shudder of her own racked her small body. The loud moans were becoming more frequent, she was gasping with every breath and, _fucking Death he really was going to explode,_ most likely in his pants. Finally, after a time that seemed torturously long, like hours, like days, she sobbed out his name, long and loud, and after a few more moments, her finger finally stilled, and, still panting, she opened her eyes and smiled at him.

            “Mmmm… that was nice.  Did you like it?”

            Soul swallowed hard again and nodded, unsure of his own voice, unsure he could speak without it cracking.  Her eyes trailed down his body to eye the clear tent in his pants, and she met his gaze again, raising her eyebrows.

            “Seems like you have a problem of your own, mmm?  Would you like me to help you with that?”

            Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck yes, please, oh Death yes.

            He nodded, still unsure of his voice, but Maka frowned.

            “But you have been so _very_ bad, and you didn’t even ask nicely.”  She was pouting now.

            Suddenly, he found his voice because like _fuck_ he was going to lose the chance to have her help him.

            “P..please..?” His voice did crack and couldn’t be arsed to care.  Soul licked his lips again, his gaze locked on hers.  “Please?” He repeated again.

            “Please what?”  Her smile spread.

            “Please… help me?”  He managed to get out.

            “Well, since you asked so nicely.”  Her wicked grin was back as she stood and stretched, arching her back in that enticing way before moving up to straddle his lap.  The contact of her, warm against his erection even through his sleep clothes, caused him to shut his eyes in sheer pleasure, to shudder at the contact, a small gasp escaping.

            “Maka…” he breathed.

            “Shhhh…” she said, putting a finger to his lips before replacing it with her mouth, hot and insistent on his own.  Soul returned her kiss eagerly, because holy fuck did he want this, need this now, _right fucking now_. Maka moved her hands around his neck, weaving them into his hair as she used her tongue and teeth and lips against his own in the most delicious, the most positively sinful ways, causing him to make involuntary noises of pleasure at the contact.  But in this, at least, he had a measure of control, and as she remained still in his lap, as he ached to change that, he nipped her own lip at the same time as he thrust his hips up against her soaked womanhood, causing her to gasp into his mouth.

            She pulled back and shook her head.

            “Eager. Well, you _are_ still being punished.  You’re going to have to wait a bit.”  And then there was that smile, that evil smile.  That smile was going to kill him.  It wasn’t as if she’d never worn it before, had never taken control, but not like this, _never_ like this, and it was the single, hottest thing she’d ever done, and fuckitall, if this was a punishment then she could punish him all day, every day, because this was the most delicious fucking torture Soul could imagine.       

            The meister moved her mouth back down, finding her weapon’s neck, kissing and sucking and biting her way down.  She pulled back to frown at his t-shirt as she reached the jointure of his neck and shoulder, then shrugged, a small motion, as she realized it was going to have to stay. Instead, she slid her hands from his hair down his neck and his chest, teasing through his shirt as her mouth returned to his neck.  She sucked hard, bit him hard even as she pulled at his nipples through his shirt, and he gasped and bucked against her involuntarily. 

            “Ah ah,” Maka pulled back again to look at him with disapproval. “I thought I told you that you had to wait.  Or maybe you don’t need my help?”

            Oh Death oh Death oh Death.  She began to get up and he found his voice.

            “Wait!” she stopped, standing over him, and tilted her head in question.  

            “I, um,” the deathscythe licked his lips yet again.  “Won’t, uh, do it again.  I fucking swear.  Just, uh, please, Maka?”  He knew he sounded pathetic. Once again, he couldn’t care—it was this or explode.             

            “That’s better,” she grinned down at him, suddenly falling to her knees in front of the couch, putting a hand on each of his knees to spread them. “Move forward,” she commanded and he complied, eagerly, shuffling to the front of the couch. She moved her hands up to pull at the waistband of his sleep pants and, knowing what she wanted, he awkwardly, extremely awkwardly with his wrists bound, lifted his bottom so she could slide them down, letting them pool at his ankles.  She slid them off and tossed them away.  Grinning down at his overwrought cock, strained beyond anything he could ever remember, she smiled up at him seductively and licked her lips, her hands resting on his knees and creeping  slowly, so slowly, up his thighs.  She finally stilled them just shy of where he longed, ached, for her touch, any sort of touch, and her smile still wide on her face, she tilted her head in question.

            “P..please..?” His voice cracked again.

            “Please what, Soul?”

            “Please… touch me.”  He said breathily.

            “Yes,” was all she answered, and suddenly, her head was between his legs and her mouth was on him, hot and wet and wonderful and oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck had it _ever_ felt this good? If kicking some little underclassmen shits’ asses could get him _this_ , well, he’d kick every goddamned ass in the school because _holy fucking shit._   It felt so Death damned good. Of course, it always felt good. Always.  Even when they had first started fooling around and she’d been nervous and shy and clueless, it had still been amazing because anything that involved his dick and his meister’s _mouth_ was amazing by definition, but over time, she had gotten better and better at it. And now, with his every nerve already on fire, with his entire body being one throbbing mess of overwhelming _arousal_ , her mouth felt exactly like his cock had been dipped into liquid heaven, and the unmanly noises he was making and her pleased little hums as he shuddered and whimpered underscored how utterly fantastic this was.  She was alternating between sucking up and down the vein on the underside of his arousal, sucking on that little spot underneath where head met shaft, and taking all of him into her mouth and sucking and licking the vein, putting pressure on that sweet spot, and sweeping her tongue over the head, all the while sucking hard and bobbing her head up and down deliciously and oh—oh fuck he wanted to wrap a hand in her hair, maybe use the other one to reach down and grope a tit, but he was still bound, and it was overwhelming pleasure and sheer torture because this felt _so fucking good_ at the same time as he _just wanted to touch her, fuck_.

            But at least the heavenly torture was almost over because he could feel himself getting close, could feel himself beginning to twitch, just at the cusp of release, and—and—suddenly, he felt cold down there, that cusp cooling quickly with the air that hit him.  Her mouth was gone, and she was standing, looking down at him with a triumphant smile.

            “Makaaaa…” he whined.  He couldn’t help it—this was just…  just… cruel.

            “What?”

            “Why—what—“

            “This _is_ still a punishment, Soul. So it was time to stop.”

            He groaned, words unable to convey the disappointment, the utter torture of being so close, only to be denied.

            “Maka, please, I need…”  The scythe met her eyes and her stern look became a smile as she crawled back onto his lap, aligning her slit with his stiff cock, causing him to hiss at the heat of her against him. 

            “Is this what you want,” she moved her face close to his ear, her breath hot and feather light against his neck. 

            “Yeah…” he gasped as she slid herself a bit along his length, the wet heat of her delicious, the feel of her clit on his tip almost maddening.

            “Well—only since you have been so polite about it,” the meister practically purred, sucking on his earlobe hotly and leaving open mouthed kisses along his neck before moving her hips again, then returning her lips to his ear. “And only because I have another problem of my own—so this time, I guess I’ll use you to help myself. You’re my weapon, after all; it’s your job to help me.  Do you want to help me? Can I use you for this?” Maka emphasized her point by sliding herself along his length again, causing him to groan. 

            “Well, can I?”  This time, she ground down more roughly and he slid sloppily, maddeningly against her wet heat.

            “Fuck, yeah—please, yeah.  Fuck,” Soul managed to gasp out.

            “Good,” she practically purred in his ear.  “Such a good weapon.  Although,” she pulled away to frown at him prettily, her eyes on fire.  “You should really say ‘yes, my meister,’ to show what a good little weapon you are.’”  Death, she had escalated the dirty talk, was taking command in a way she never had before and fuck it all, he wanted her to use him all day long, use him for the rest of his life until he was spent and broken because this felt good, so fucking good.  She slid along his length again, slowly, teasingly, and he shuddered in want.

            “Well, Soul?”

            “Y..yes, my meister?”

            “Should I move?”

            “Fuck, yes, please Maka,” he gasped out.  She frowned again.

            “Uh, Death, y..yes my meister.”

            “Better,” she smiled again, and suddenly, her hand reached down to grasp him, to align him with her entrance, and just as suddenly, eyes locked on his, she sank down on him, hands flying up to his shoulders, head slamming back and eyes snapping shut as she let out a long, satisfied moan.  His own head snapped back quickly after, the feel of her far too good for coherent anything as she moved herself up and back down along his length. The positioning was awkward, and with his hands behind him, he couldn’t angle himself right or really thrust back into her the way he was aching to do, but it still felt good, wet and hot and tight and _fantastic,_ even if she was only getting about half of him in any given movement. It went on that way for awhile, Maka burying her head in his neck as she moved, occasionally trying to angle herself differently, making pleased little noises alternated with the occasional groan of frustration.  Soul understood. He was becoming frustrated himself, wanting to touch her, feel her skin hot beneath his hands, to thrust into her, to feel ever last bit of her around him, and he groaned finally, causing her to still.

            “What?” She panted against his neck. “Do you want something?” Her own voice was quavering now, her need almost palpable.

            “Yes, my meister,” his voice was low and throaty.

            “What do you want?”          

            “To touch you.” He said hotly.

            “No,” she said, her tone disapproving even as she panted, pulling her head up to frown at him.  Oh, fuck, he’d forgotten.

            “Please… my meister?”

            “Please what?” Still the frown.

            “Please, my meister, can I touch you?”  His voice was even, though his entire body was wound like a spring, tight, too tight, about to snap. 

            “Yes,” she breathed, the smile lighting her face wide and genuine, the mask of dominance peeling away in that moment.  They were still connected, he was still half inside of her, and feeling her so hot yet so still was a form of insanity, seemingly for her, too. “Cut yourself free. Now.”

            Soul didn’t need to be told twice; willing his hands to shift into blades and sliding through the bandages like they were tissue paper, he pulled his hands out, sore, numb, but eager, relief and sheer _want_ flooding him at finally, finally being free.  He slid his back down against the sofa to give himself more leverage, and, grasping her hips roughly, eagerly, he thrust up into her hard, causing her to slam her eyes shut and throw her head back in a wail of pleasure.

            Maka began to move again, grasping his shoulders, meeting him thrust for thrust, her moans becoming loud and wanton.

            “Fuck, Soul, you feel so good,” she gasped between thrusts, and as she ground down on him again, as he used his hands to help force her hips down harder, used his own body to thrust up into her, she sobbed his name and he grunted hers because fuck it was good, so so so good. 

            “You too, fuck Maka.” 

            He wasn’t going to last, and he wanted to make damn sure this was as good for her, so he gasped out.

            “Fuck, touch yourself I’m—ugh, please.”

            There was no argument.  One hand still digging almost painfully into his shoulder, only his t-shirt preventing her nails from drawing blood, she moved the other one down to touch herself as she continued to ride him.  Watching her touch herself, watching her grind down on him over and over again as he thrust up to meet her, hearing her moans, loud and hot and wanton, hearing her cry his name, feeling her tight, so painfully tight around him that they were having to force every thrust, it was only another moment before it was too much, before it pushed him over the edge and he came inside of her, hard and fast and so so deep, the feeling overwhelming, his body twitching uncontrollably along with his dick as he spurted hotly, as he cried her name brokenly. It took her only two more thrusts down onto his still twitching cock before she came undone herself, the feeling of her spasming around him causing him to moan her name again loudly, causing his twitching to quicken again for an instant before both came down from their high, her collapsing against him, spent, utterly spent, him sliding his tingling arms up around her to pull her close, hold her tight. He was still inside of her, softening but connected, and having Maka collapsed atop him, her head in the crook of his neck, panting, both of them completely sated, was about the best thing Soul could think of. 

            This really had been the greatest fucking punishment ever.

            They stayed that way for minutes, or maybe hours, but probably the former, before Maka’s breath had stilled enough to speak, and she spoke against his neck, surprising him.

            “You know,” she said softly, almost inaudibly.  “I know what happened.”

            “Huh?” He said, confused. 

            “In the locker room,” she clarified.

            “Thought that was obvious, what with the punishment and all. Got in a fight. Kicked some scrub’s ass.” He couldn’t help but to chuckle.  She sat up, her eyes serious as she met his gaze; it seemed almost strange, that look, surreal combined with the feel of her still surrounding his soft member.

            “No, I mean, I know _why_ it happened.” Her look was earnest. She moved herself up, disconnecting them, to look down slightly at him from her knees, her hand stroking his face, his bandage. 

            “How?” He shook his head.

            “Harvar told me.”

            “Harv—what the fuck does he have to do with it?”  He sounded incredulous because he was; the apathetic lightening spear hadn’t even _been there._ How the fuck..?

            “He saw everything, though he said you didn’t see him, was about to go intervene, but you acted too quickly.  Look I—“ she shook her head, bit her lip.  She was beginning to redden; the flush of exertion having faded, this was from frustration or maybe embarrassment.  “What they said?  It doesn’t matter. Some of it is true.” She smiled and her flush deepened.  How she could _possibly_ be embarrassed after what she’d just done, what they’d just been doing, what they’d been doing together for months, he didn’t know, but she clearly was.   “Because I _do_ love doing things with you, and I’m pretty sure you like the way I do them.”

            He laughed.  “Fuck, Maka. You must be the queen of understatement.”  She just grinned down and kissed his nose, before continuing.             

            “And the other stuff?  Well, that’s just jealously.  Because you’re the _only_ one this is true for, the only one it’s _ever_ going to be true for, you know?”  The flush deepened and he knew he was sporting the goofiest smile, his cool long since lost somewhere between her tying him up and stripping herself down, but she was damned cute, and he felt this little rush of pride and possessiveness that this gorgeous, sexy, smart, strong, badassed goddess was his and his alone, unworthy ass though he might be. 

            “I know,” he managed to say softly.

            “So next time?  Don’t bother. Walk away—because jerks like that are a dime a dozen.  They aren’t worth bruising your knuckles on.”

            He sighed, but nodded placatingly.  Because she was wrong—jerks like that deserved to be put in their fucking place—yet she was right, too, because there would always be assholes, had always been assholes, and she was so far above them that they couldn’t touch her, couldn’t even come close.  

            She smiled her approval and bent down to give him a chaste kiss on the lips before saying “good,” and then curling up on his lap, head now on his chest, legs swinging up onto his, warm and comfortable. 

            “Harv really did see it and tell you every fucking detail, didn’t he?” The scythe ventured at last, felt her nod against his chest. 

            “Mmm hmmm.  He decided to pull me aside before I went home because he figured I’d jump to the wrong conclusions and thought I should know the truth.”

            “Mph,” he grunted.  “And if you hadn’t known?”

            She shrugged against him, a small motion.  “Probably would have chopped you for being an idiot.”

            “’ll have to thank him then.  Preferred this by a long way.”

            “Thought you might,” she laughed softly, “I decided, once I knew, that you deserved a more—fitting punishment.”  He could feel her smile against his chest and he tightened his grip around her. This had been fucking amazing and he really should thank the lightening spear.  Hell, he almost wanted to thank the douchy little twerps that had started it all, but really, the damned dagger had deserved what he got and he’d never be sorry for it. 

            They stayed that way for a while before Maka began to stir against him, wriggling out of his arms to stand and stretch. 

            “I should really go get some clothes on and make dinner,” she said with a sigh. “It’s my night.”

            “I’ll make it if you skip the pajamas,” he grinned up at her.

            “Mmmm… tempting, but no.”

            “Aw, come on, Makaaaa,” he whined at her playfully. 

            “No, you’ll just try to distract me.”

            “Gonna do that anyway,” his grin widened and he made to grab for her. She backed up, her smile becoming a frown.

            “I’m serious, Soul.”  Her tone was a warning now, her hand moving towards the book on the table. Noticing the move, he shot out past her legs to get to it first.  It was face down on the page she had left off on, and he shot up and tumbled over the couch to move past her reach, suddenly curious about what had gotten her so worked up to begin with.  He scanned the page, frowning, as she began to stalk after him.

            “Give it back, Soul.”  It was the warning tone again, but he just backed up more quickly before finally, having scanned most of it, shutting the book and handing it over, throwing up his hands.

            “Alright, alright, have it,” he said, shaking his head.  “Though I have to admit,”  he smirked, “I never would have pegged you for that type of kink. That chick getting yelled at at work was really a turn on, huh?”

            Maka just rolled her eyes.  “Nooo,” she said slowly, drawing it out as if he were a moron.  “I wasn’t even reading it,” it was her turn to smirk, “I just wanted you to _think_ I was.” And then, with a wink, she turned and flounced away to her room.  Oh—ohhh…. 

            Fuck, she really was devious. 

            As he watched her go, eyeing the delicious bounce of her bare ass as she disappeared into their room to change, Soul knew he was the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet that this woman was his and his alone.


	7. First I Love You (or Of Texting and Underpants)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing says "I Love You" like a drunk serenade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written from neither Soul nor Maka's POV, this story is huge change of pace to cap the week. It is based on YYeann's fantastic art sequence. Really, this is Yyeann's thing; I just put words to some fantastic art and am grateful for having been granted the privilege to do so.
> 
> Lyrics from The Beatles “I Saw Her Standing There,” Coldplay “Shiver,” Radiohead “Creep,” Lady Gaga “Love Game, Shakira “Hips Don’t Lip,” Air Supply “Lonely is the Night,” REO Speedwagon “I Can’t Fight This Feeling,” George Benson, “Nothing’s Gonna Change My Love for You,” Matchbox 20 “Disease,” Owl City “Bombshell Blonde,” The Bangles, “Eternal Flame,” and finally, The Beatles, “Listen, do you want to know a secret?”

             It was turning out to be a hell of a night.  Kilik Rung, two star utility meister, had somehow gotten dragged by two of his closest friends into what could only be termed a sleep over.  There were snacks.  There were video games.  There were movies.  There was music.  There was a shit ton of beer.

            When Star had casually mentioned that the girls were sequestering themselves for a slumber party at Gallow’s Mansion, and just as casually suggested that maybe the guys should cook something up of their own, Kilik remained quiet.  This shit had nothing to do with him, really, and he was too old for a sleep over by a good bit—they all were, really.  Soul agreed and said as much out loud, adding that it’d be nice not to have his meister telling him to get his feet off the coffee table or not to drink from the damned carton like a savage for once, and, for himself, he planned to kick back and relax in his underwear, feet on every available surface, glasses rejected for the night.

            The problem was, Star could be pretty persuasive when he had a mind to—or when his friends thought that the least _destructive_ option might just be the one the assassin was hell bent on—so Soul had finally, reluctantly, agreed to have them over for the night.  Other male members of Spartoi had been invited, but Ox and Harvar claimed other plans (Kilik figured their ‘other plans’ centered doing _anything_ that didn’t involve hanging out with destructive, unpredictable ninjas,) and Kid (no longer a member of Spartoi, perhaps, but still in their circle,) had claimed a mountain of paperwork to deal with—he’d spend his time in the Death Room.  That left Kilik, and Kilik had not been able to say no when asked directly.  Honestly, he didn’t even want to.  Star and Soul were two of his closest friends, they didn’t get to hang out much anymore, and hell, a sleepover wouldn’t kill him.  So, in his way, the pot meister had actually been looking forward to the little get together, and really, all things considered, he was pretty damned glad he’d gone.  It was nice to get away from the twins for a while (Marie had happily agreed to have them over for the night) and the prospect of free (well, provided by Black*Star) beer and video games really was a pretty damned good one.

            At this point, he was drunk.  They all were.  Black*Star was flipping through pictures on his cellphone, looking for Shinigami knew what, though he kept going on about cat tits, Soul had broken out his guitar and was strumming various things aimlessly, and Kilik, well, Kilik was nursing his half dozenth beer, lounged on the couch and watching his friends because he had nothing better or more entertaining to do at the moment.  Drunk people were funny, after all, especially Star, who had absolutely no filter even without alcohol, and Soul, who rarely drank, but when he did, went from snarky and aloof to down right chummy and talkative, suddenly content to be the center of attention.  Drunk Soul was pretty much a blast and his antics were always well worth the price of admission.

            Kilik noticed, then, that Soul had begun to sing.  Oh yeah, he was trashed.  The pot meister chuckled as he kicked back to enjoy the scythe’s antics.

            "Well she was just seventeen, if you know what I mean, and the way she looked was way beyond compare," he began, then suddenly shifted gears completely, the strumming on the guitar changing.

            "I'll always be waiting for you, so you know how much I need you, but you never even see me, do you? And is this my final chance of getting you?"

            Well, the meister thought idly, the boy clearly had someone on his mind.  Not really surprising—he’d had it pretty bad for his pigtailed meister for, well, for as long as Kilik could remember.  It would have taken an idiot not to see it.  Apparently, the scythe meister _was_ an idiot, because Kilik was also fairly certain she had it bad for her weapon, and yet, here he was, pining in song for the girl he wanted and thought he couldn’t have.  It was pretty damned silly.  The various members of Spartoi who _weren’t_ Soul and Maka had discussed their situation many times, and the general consensus was that both weapon and meister were pretty far gone for one another, yet both of them seemed unable to see the truth, to see their own feelings reflected in their partner.   

            The song shifted again.  Well, at least it was entertaining to watch

            "When you were here before couldn't look you in the eye.  You're just like an angel.  Your skin makes me cry.  You float like a feather in a beautiful world.  I wish I was special, you're so fucking special."

            This was getting bad.  The songs were getting more and more whiny and depressed—man, the guy really did have it bad.  It was sort of hard to be entertained when someone was starting to look that pathetic.  Often, the pot meister had considered giving one or both of them a little nudge, but then, he’d convinced himself they would figure it out on their own given time and that it was really none of his damned business anyway.  But then time had passed, and passed, and passed and the two idiots kept fumbling around each other.  Kilik was beginning to see why Liz kept scheming to get them together because clearly, cluelessness on this level could persist indefinitely, and it was time for the two of them to just _get a fucking room_ already.  There was so much sexual tension between them you could cut it with the boy’s scythe blade.

            "How about something we can dance to, man?"  Star mercifully cut the angst fest off.  Soul scowled at him for a moment but then just shrugged.  

            "Whatever, dude.  Whatchu want?"

            "Lady Gaga, dude, lets have it!"  Black*Star suddenly vaulted over the couch, grinning at his own suggestion.  Kilik figured he was fucking with the death scythe but Soul just shrugged again.

            "Sure, whatever," he said as he as slipped his already loosened Spartoi tie from his neck to affix it to his head.

            "Da fuck is that dude?" Star eyed the tie.

            "Figured I should look the part," he grinned and started to play again.

            "I wanna kiss you, but if I do then I might miss you, babe.  It's complicated and stupid, got my ass squeezed by sexy Cupid, guess he wants to play, wants to play

A love game, a love game.”

            Annnnnd the drunk bastard had figured a way to turn even Lady Gaga to his ends.  Yup, this was getting out of control.  As the song continued, Kilik figured it might just be the time and place to do something about all of this.

            “Hold me and love me.  Just wanna touch you for a minute.  Maybe three seconds is enough for my heart to quit it."

            As they got to the bridge, Kilik and Star joined in.

            "Let's have some fun, this beat is sick.  I wanna take a ride on your disco stick

Don't think too much just bust that stick. I wanna take a ride on your disco stick."

            Star snorted, cutting the song short.  "Yeah, you two losers wish someone would ride your disco stick."

            Kilik laughed outright at that because he had definitely had more action than either of his friends, but Soul had a bit of a far away look and the utility meister had a pretty good idea that he was imagining someone very specific having her way with his disco stick, as it were.

            "Shakira—do some Shakira!"  Star cut his thoughts short.

            "Seriously man?"  Soul raised an eyebrow.

            "What, dude?  It's better than that whiny assed emo crap you were torturing us with before.  Sides, Baki likes it, and—"

            Soul cut him off.  "Sure, whatever, cool.  Got just the thing."

            And the playing started again, then the singing.

            “I never really knew that she could dance like this.  She makes a man wants to speak Spanish.  Como se llama."

            Black Star suddenly cut in with the answering "Si."

            "Bonita."

            Star repeated "Si."

            "Mi casa," Soul was smiling as he sang.

            Kilik had definitely seen enough.  Soul was so drunk that he was belting out every song about his meister, and hell, he'd been watching the two of them circle each other long enough, he figured.  Maybe it really was time to kick the elephant into the light and get his pining friend to do something to get the girl he was gone over to pay attention to his long neglected disco stick.

            Before Star could reply again, Kilik  cut in with "oh, Maka, oh Maka!"

            When Soul gave him a questioning look, he chuckled.  "Dude, like I totally ship you and Maka.  SoMa 5 ever—and I just—" he walked behind his friend, draping himself over him, patting him down to try to find his phone because it was past time the death scythe stopped dragging his damned ass "—I can't.  Ain't you gonna confess or somethin'?"

            "Star, hand over my phone," the scythe said with a small head shake.  "Kilik, much as I like you man, get the fuck off me."

            Kilik laughed in response.  So that's where the phone was—explained a bit what all the talk about cat tits was, too.  The utility meister found himself wondering idly if there really might be some such thing on his friend's phone as he peeled himself off his back and walked up next to Soul.  The meister quickly noticed his friend’s grin and thought maybe he was getting somewhere.

            "Star?"  Soul suddenly questioned.  The assassin still had the phone and seemed to be texting something.  "Shit!" The deathscythe swore and lept over to swipe the phone. Kilik peered over his friend’s arm at the screen to see that Star had texted Maka:

            _whacha doin sweet cakes_

           

            "Fuck, Star, that's the best you could do?" Soul rolled his eyes as Black*Star crowded up behind the scythe next to Kilik.  Kilik shook his head at him in sympathy.  It _was_ a pretty pathetic pick-up line.  

            "What?!"  The ninja looked offended.  "That's a godly opening line!  You should be thanking me!"

            "Whatever," Soul shrugged as he read Maka's response of:

            _Check your recipient, Casanova_.

            "Fuck," the white-haired boy shook his head as he typed in:

            _it's Soul_

 _Right?_ Her response came quickly.

            "Shit, shit, shit," Soul chanted, then uttering a drawn out "uhhhhhh," typed in:

_lonely is the night when am not with you_

            "Seriously, dude, more emo crap?"  Star scoffed.  "You suck at this."

            Soul didn’t dignify that with a response, though Kilik couldn't help the chuckle that escaped, earning him a scowl from the white-haired boy just before Maka's reply appeared:

_Are you drunk?_

            "Like, duuuuh," Star laughed.  "Fuckin' genius, that one."

            Soul took a second to elbow his friend in annoyance, who replied with an indignant “hey!,” before typing:

_i can't fight this feeling anymore i've forgotten what i started fighting for_

            "Duuuuude, seriously, you are one cheesy fucker when you're wasted.  You should give me that before you embarrass yourself anymore.  Just straight up tell her you want to do her and get it the fuck—"

            Kilik had gotten behind the assassin and got a hand over his mouth before the blue-haired boy even knew what hit him.  The pot meister nodded to Soul.  

            "I got this—do what you gotta do."

            Star struggled a bit but quieted down at Maka's next reply:

            _I swear, if the apartment’s a mess, I'll chop your head off_

            "Shit," Soul shook his head again and typed something new:

_nothin's gonna change my love for you. you outta know by now how much i love you_

            Star suddenly managed to bite his captor’s hand and Kilik let go.  The ninja crowed "duuuuuude enough with the sap.  You sound like a fuckin—" but whatever he was going to say was lost in the vibration that indicated a reply:

_SHUT UP_

            Soul's face fell a little and Kilik nudged him.  "I've got a good one," he offered.  The death scythe shrugged and handed him the phone.  

“Not like you could make it worse,” the scythe mumbled.  Kilik typed in:

_you taste like honey, honey tell me i can be your honey_

            The utility meister then returned the phone to its owner with a self satisfied grin.  Mischief managed, totally.

            "Good one!"  Star high fived Kilik.  "Smooth, dude."

            Soul didn’t respond, he was too busy staring at the screen.  And staring.  And staring.  "Ugh," he groaned after two minutes had passed, typing a new message:

            _Maka_

            There was no reply for another minute and the two meisters exchanged guilty looks because their friend, normally a giddy drunk, looked suddenly miserable.  He typed again:

_Maka_

            _SCREW YOU GO TO BED_

            The reply came suddenly and Star snatched the phone typing:

_is that a yes_

            Soul grabbed the phone back just in time to read:

            _OMG NO_

            "Fuck," Soul looked miserable again, staring at the last message as if he could change it.  Kilik was getting frustrated; he'd pushed this and it was going to shit, damnit.

            "Dude, it's—" Star stopped as the phone vibrated:

            _Soul_

            One word.     

"Don't answer," Kilik smiled.  She was worried—perfect.  Maybe this was going to work after all.  Another vibration underscored the thought:

_Soul?_

            Soul was about to type something in response, but Kilik put his hand over his friend’s to still it.  "Patience, grasshopper," his smile remained.  “Let her sweat.”

            Finally, a third vibration:

            _Maybe if you sing to me properly?_

            They were grouped around the phone, and Star and Kilik grinned maniacally at the words, Soul sporting a soft, slightly nervous smile.

            "Gear up, boys.  We gon crash dem sleepover!" Black*Star shouted, followed by a loud "Yahoo!  My man Soul is finally gonna get him some."

            Soul was still smiling, but suddenly frowned. "What should I sing?"

            "Don't worry dude—I got yer back.  Got just the song."  The ninja was rubbing his hands together like some sort of cartoon villain and Kilik couldn’t help but to be doubtful, but as they put their heads together to plan, he had to admit it was pretty damned perfect.  

            The first thing they did was to gather more liquid courage, because unless Soul stayed completely wasted, this wasn't going to happen.  Next came straightening the apartment, something Soul himself insisted on, because if this worked, he had informed them both earnestly, it would suck to have it fall apart over a few stray beer cans. After that, they decided to make themselves presentable and an argument quickly ensued.  Soul thought that they should just go as they were, but Black*Star shook his head, slung his arm around his bro, winked at Kilik over Soul’s shoulder, and said,”Nah, dude.  Boxers.  We do this in our shorts.  It’ll be all romantical and shit.”

             Soul looked skeptical and turned his eyes to the more reasonable pot meister, but it actually didn’t sound like such a bad idea to Kilik.  Sort of _Risky Business._ Being serenaded at a slumber party by dudes in boxers and dress shirts and nothing else?  Fuck yeah, girls would eat that shit up.  So Kilik grinned, and nodded.  “Cool, man, you should do it.”

            “Right?” Star held up a hand and Kilik took the bait, high fiving.

            “Well, fuck,” Soul finally relented.  “Why the fuck not?”  

            So they all stripped off their pants and took off their ties and partially unbuttoned their shirts and drank a few more beers.  That was when Kilik realized that he didn’t have on his lucky Scooby Doo boxers—crap.   

            “Dudes, I need my lucky boxers if we’re gonna do this thing.”

            “You have lucky boxers?”  Soul’s eyebrow shot up.  “How the fuck does that even happen?”

            Kilik smiled and waggled his eyebrows.  “They were the first boxers I got lucky in.”  

           Star started laughing uncontrollably at this, gasping out between giggles. “You...got your cherry popped...in Scooby Doo...boxers?”  

           Kilik’s grin widened as he shrugged.  It was a pretty good memory.  “Chicks dig Scooby Doo, what can I say?  ‘Sides, ‘least I _got_ my cherry popped, man.  But if we’re gonna get our man Soul some action, those boxers need to be ON.”

           Soul scoffed.  “Dude, this ain’t your house.  Just wear what you got on.”          

          “Nah, man,” Kilik protested.  “Gotta dress the part.”

          “Fuck, man, I’m not drunk enough for this shit,” the scythe grumbled under his breath, downing another beer in a few large gulps.  When he was done, he shrugged.  “Fine, whatever—wear something else,” he eyed the ratty plaid things the pot meister was currently sporting.  “‘Cause those things are just _sad_.  Borrow some of mine.  Laundry basket’s on my bed.”

          The utility meister disappeared into Soul’s room, sifting through the laundry basket quickly.  It seemed to be mostly girly shit, but finally, he saw a pair of stretchy, star spangled boxer briefs that looked _sick_ , so he shucked off his own shorts and slid them on.  They were an admittedly tight squeeze, but hell, they were sharp.  He eyed himself in the mirror with approval, heedless of the effect of his beer goggles, and strutted out before his two friends waiting on the couch.

        “‘Bout time, dude.  We need to get the fuck out if we’re gonna do this thing.”

          Star lept up towards the door, but Soul started to snort, eyeing the blue boxer briefs with amusement.  His snorts soon turned into full blown, uncontrollable laughter, and the other two boys seemed confused until, finally, choking back enough of his mirth to speak, Soul gasped out, wiping away tears.

          “Dude—dude—those—are Maka’s.”  

          Kilik looked down and shrugged.  So they were a little small and did resemble Wonder Woman’s bottoms a bit, come to think of it, but whatever.      

          Star just slung an arm around each of them, either not hearing or not caring about the pot meister’s odd taste in underwear.  

          “We ready to do this thing, dudes?”

          The question was followed immediately by a chorus of “fuck yeahs!” as the trio headed out the door.  

          Realizing that they were far too drunk to drive, Kilik called in a favor from a reluctant Harvar, who picked them up in his van and swung by Kilik's place to grab some electronic necessaries (because who _else_ was going to provide a kickass impromptu PA/music system to make this work,) before ferrying them to the mansion.  As much as he'd initially resisted, it had taken less effort to convince the lightning spear than Kilik had expected—Harvar clearly wanted to kick back and watch the spectacle and even brought his meister along for the ride.

            The advice was flying, too.  Ox thought Soul should bring flowers; Maka might not be an angel like Kim, but all girls liked flowers. Star thought he should just walk in there and plant one on her.  Harvar occasionally snorted, not thinking much of any of those suggestions, and for his part, Kilik insisted they stick with the plan.  Since Soul agreed with Kilik, it seemed that the show would go on.  

            Looked like he was getting to play Cupid tonight.  Kilik was just drunk enough to figure that that wasn’t at all a bad thing.

* * *

 

            Tsubaki watched as her best friend paced and fretted, fretted and paced.

            "This has to be a joke, Right?  Ha ha, stupid Maka to fall for it," she finally turned back to her friend, her green eyes full of fear and anger.

            "I don't think so," Tsubaki shook her head.

            "You wouldn't, but you know that has to be it," the meister sighed.  “Why did stupid Liz have to put in that last message?”

            The shadow weapon had been watching the scythe meister fret for ten minutes at least and sincerely hoped Liz and Patti were back soon to help.  The two had run off quickly after having squeed loudly at Soul's final reply of:

_be right over_

            They had disappeared to gather some beautification supplies, as they put it, insisting that if their friend was to be wooed by the weapon she had been secretly pining over forever, then she was going to damned well look the part. .  Another minute later and the two pistols came crashing back into the large upstairs rec room in a flurry of movement and laughter, sweeping up the stunned meister to usher her to a chair and begin their ministrations.  In their arms were clothing, several makeup bags, a bag of hair supplies, in short, anything and everything to do their dirty work.  For her part, Tsubaki didn’t really think her friend needed all of it—Maka was naturally pretty, in that girl next door sort of way, and Soul clearly liked her as she was—but Patti and Liz had other ideas, and if there was one thing that the dark arm weapon had learned over the course of their friendship it was that when the sisters got an idea in their heads, it was generally for the best to leave them to do their dirty work.

            Maka clearly wanted to protest and was looking decidedly like an animal caught in a trap, but she couldn’t get a word in even if she had been able to form one that was intelligible.  Tsubaki walked over behind her clearly stunned and nervous friend, squeezing her shoulder in comforting solidarity as Liz and Patti threw aside different pieces of clothing, looking for the ones they wanted and, finally, having decided, moved to the make up bag.

            “Alright,” Liz turned back to Maka, standing over her, one hand cocked on a hip.  “Are you ready for the Thompson treatment?”

            The scythe meister swallowed slowly then shook her head, seemingly about to refuse, when Patti cut off the words before she could speak them.

            “’Course, sissy!  After all, Maka’s smart enough to know that the easy way is always better than the hard way!”  The deceptively innocent little blonde threw an exaggerated wink towards her seated friend and Maka just sighed, defeated.

            “I, uh, guess…” she trailed off.  Tsubaki knew she had already been nervous, worried about whatever was going on with Soul.  Maybe this was just the distraction she needed, really.  She even thought Liz, at the very least, might know that too as the pistol smiled her way for the barest instant before brandishing a brush at Maka and setting to work.

            It really was like something from a movie.  There were lotions and creams, highlights and low lights, potions and powders.  There were multiple types of brushes and irons and hair dryers, half a dozen different styling products, perfume and body spray and wax and tweezers.  When it was all through, Maka was smooth, almost glowing, her long legs on display in a swishy little purple dress that had apparently been bought for Patti, only the bust was too small.  It fit Maka like a glove, and Tsubaki had to wonder, devious as the sisters could be, if they hadn’t bought it and squirrelled it away, simply waiting for just such an opportunity.  With access to Kid’s platinum card and a known propensity for scheming, the dark arm certainly wouldn’t put it past them.  They had left their friend’s hair down and softly curled, and it was sleek and shiny and beautiful.  Her makeup, not overdone, looked natural but made her eyes stand out, even more luminous and green than usual.  And her skin, and there was an awfully lot of it on display, looked soft and luminous.

            The shadow weapon had to admit that the sisters knew their stuff.  If Soul weren’t already totally gone for his meister, and it was pretty clear to all and sundry except said meister that he was, then he surely would have been after seeing her tonight.  Maka was always cute, but tonight she looked radiant.  She also looked terrified as the ordeal ended and they all waited for something to happen.  So far, they were still waiting, a good hour after that text, fifteen minutes since Maka had been completely made over, for the weapon to show.  So far, they had been disappointed.

            “He’s not coming,” Maka said, shaking her head.  “And good.  It was a joke, an idiotic joke, and now the boys are having their little laugh and we can all get on with our lives.  There isn’t enough beer on the planet to get Soul to see me that way.  Hell, Black*Star probably got ahold of his phone and had a good laugh.  Now, can I get back into my pajamas so we can finish the movie?”

            “No!” the two pistols said as one.

            Maka just shook her head again and started to rise.  And that’s when they heard it.  There was honking outside.  The horn honked once, twice, and then a third time, loud and long.

            “See?” Patti squealed as she got up and ran to the French doors leading out to the balcony.  Liz winked over at Tsubaki and she strutted over herself, and, curious and feeling a little out of the loop, the shadow weapon followed.  It was a temperate night, a little cool but not cold, and as she made her way out onto the second floor balcony after the two blondes and looked down, she enjoyed the cool breeze blowing through her currently loose hair.  And then she saw it.   It was a black van tricked out to look like the A-Team might be driving it around.  Tsubaki had seen it parked near the school a few times and was pretty sure it belonged to Harvar.  Standing on top of the not-quite garish vehicle were three figures with a portable spotlight shining down at them that someone had affixed to a nearby tree—Soul, Black*Star, and Kilik.  The boys were—Tsubaki stifled a giggle.  They were in their Spartoi shirts, partially unbuttoned, underwear, and _nothing else._  Her meister was sporting black boxers covered with silver stars under his shirt, Soul had on a pair of red boxers with something that looked like musical notes scattered across them, and Kilik—oh my—Tsubaki threw her hands over her mouth to stop her laughter—Kilik was in a pair of Wonder Woman boyshorts she was pretty sure were Maka’s.  They really must be _that_ drunk.  Soul had topped off his own look with his Spartoi tie slung around his head like a makeshift headband, and if they looked a mite ridiculous, it was sort of adorably ridiculous, and the shadow weapon couldn’t wipe away her broad smile.  

The boys were waiting patiently, eyes glued to the balcony.  Soul had a guitar slung over his shoulder and there was a microphone stand in front of him.  Black*Star and Kilik seemed to be speaking periodically to Soul in between them, who was alternately looking like he wanted to vomit, or perhaps jump, when he wasn’t grinning madly and laughing.

            Off to the side, as Tsubaki scanned the odd scene, she noticed Harvar and Ox fiddling with some controls on a small portable table at the back of the van.  Wow, they had all gotten involved, then.  This was—really something.  Suddenly, there was a loud screeching noise emitted from speakers that she had failed to notice positioned on either side of the van, facing towards the mansion, and the boys below covered their ears in surprise.

            “Sorry!” Ox called out, but if there was an answer, Tsubaki didn’t hear it because that was when Maka finally stepped out next to her, looked down, and gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.

            “I…I…” she started to back up, seemed to want to run back into the mansion to hide, but Patti beat her to the punch, shutting the doors and blocking them with a malicious grin.

            “Nuh uh, not after all that work.  The _least_ you can do is hear the poor boy out.”

            Maka just shook her head again, her face red.  Suddenly, electronic noises started coming from the speakers below, loudly, followed by drums, the music beginning.  Soul stepped up to the microphone, looking a little green but nonetheless began to sing:

            “That blonde, she's a bomb, she's an atom bomb. Rigged up, and ready to drop!  Bad news, I'm a fuse, and I've met my match.  So stand back, it's about to go off!”    

            The moment the white-haired boy started to sing, a grin crept onto his face and he belted out the lyrics with gusto.  Soul didn’t have an amazing voice, but it was deep and steady and he could carry a tune.  His enthusiasm was endearing as he continued to sing:

            “That vixen, she's a master of disguise! I see danger, when I look in her eyes.

She's so foxy, she could lead to my demise.  So I'm running, 'cause I've run out of time.”

            The deathscythe’s eyes were clearly riveted on his meister on the balcony, his determined smile still plastered on his face.  Tsubaki found herself turning to Maka for her reaction, who was currently opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of water, too stunned to do anything but look and gape.  The shadow weapon turned her eyes back to the show again, the music finally progressing to the chorus, where Black*Star and Kilik suddenly joined in with gusto, if not much musical prowess:

            “She’s a bombshell blonde, wired up to detonate!  I’m James Bond, live to die another day! Bombshell blonde, high explosive dynamite!  She’s all I want so I, I’m on a mission tonight!”

            Tsubaki recognized the song.  It was actually one that Black*Star liked and not Soul’s usual brand of music.  She smiled quietly to herself, seeing her meister’s handprint all over this entire thing.  He really was something, and him letting his friend take center stage like this made her heart swell with pride for an instant.  Soul was singing alone again, and the shadow weapon couldn’t help but to think that the song, silly as it was, fit Maka and Soul perfectly:

            “Her love is a drug laced with ecstasy, and her charm is spiked with a spell.

A hot mess in a dress gets the best of me. She's ice cold, but she's making me melt!”

            Another glance over at her friend told Tsubaki that Maka was confused.  She was beet red and shaking her head, but she’d crept to the edge of the balcony and her eyes were riveted on her weapon.  That, she supposed, was progress.  Perhaps Soul thought so too, or maybe he was too drunk to know what to think, because as they got through another round of the bridge and came to the chorus again, he began to add in his guitar to the pre-recorded accompaniment and was jumping around for emphasis, causing his voice to become more breathy.

            As he finished the chorus again with “She’s all I want so I, I’m on a mission tonight!” he pointed straight at Maka and grinned toothily, causing the meister to squeak with embarrassment and try, unsuccessfully, to duck and hide behind the wrought iron balcony.

            The song continued, Tsubaki’s eyes alternating between Maka, who eventually stood back up, though she was fidgeting wildly, and the increasingly showy antics of the guys below, before it finally ended with all three boys pointing to Maka at the final words.  The scythe meister just shook her head in disbelief as the music faded, and Soul smiled up hopefully.

            “This one’s for you too, Maka,” he said into the mic, and then began to strum the electric guitar.  It was wired to the speakers, and the music was clear and sweet—Tsubaki wasn’t exactly surprised that such a skilled pianist could manage a guitar so well.  For her part, Maka had ducked again, though the thin, ornate guard rail wasn’t really effective cover.  After a few bars, Soul began to sing the second song of the night:

            “Close your eyes, give me your hand, darlin’,” the deathscythe held out his hand at this, and the two pistols made excited squealing sounds from their place on the other side of Maka.   The song then continued and he sang “do you feel my heart beating?  Do you understand?  Do you feel the same?  Am I only dreaming, or is this burning an eternal flame?”

            Tsubaki smiled softly, her eyes drawn to Black*Star, who was actually swaying with a tambourine.  She really loved this song, and as her meister’s eyes met hers and he smiled up at her in his turn, she knew, for his part, this was as much for her as it was for his friends and her smile widened.  Her eyes moved back to Maka, who she happened to know also loved this song.  Maka was still red, but she seemed entranced and had started to sway slightly to the music, her face blank.  Once again, the shadow weapon figured that it was progress as her eyes moved back down again:

            “I believe it’s meant to be, darlin’.  I watch you when you are sleeping, you belong with me.  Do you feel the same?  Am I only dreaming, or is this burning an eternal flame?”

            They had reached the bridge and the two meisters joined in with the deathscythe again; each slinging an arm around him, they swayed together as they sang.

            “Say my name, sun shines through the rain.  My whole life so lonely, but you come and ease the pain.  I don’t want to lose this feeling, oh!”  Tsubaki smiled at the slight change in lyrics, smiled at the three boys down there swaying in solidarity, smiled at her friend whose blank look had become a soft smile of her own.   The shadow weapon was pretty sure that this was the sweetest, most romantic thing she had ever witnessed, and her heart swelled with happiness because surely, surely, this was it and her two dearest friends would finally be together now!

            They kept singing, the song mostly just repeating the chorus with increasing intensity, kept swaying together until it ended.   The other boys backed off after the last note rang out, and Soul looked up, his eyes still riveted to his meister as he spoke.

            “This is the last one, promise.  And I, uh,” he suddenly scratched the back of his head nervously.  “I know I don’t deserve, well, you know.  I don’t.  But, I, uh, I thought—“ he just shook his head, reddening, and started strumming the guitar again.  He was still clearly drunk, as were Black*Star and Kilik, who were nudging at him to continue—Tsubaki could read all the signs in their sluggishness—but he was coming to some sort of end, here, and perhaps the alcohol was fading enough to leave him feeling vulnerable.  The shadow weapon felt for him, but she knew this couldn’t end badly because whatever else Maka might be feeling at any given moment, now or later, Tsubaki was sure that her friend loved her weapon.  Glancing at thy scythe meister, the dark arm noticed that she was red again, her arms now crossed over her chest to ward off the cold, but she wasn’t fidgeting quite as much and that was another good sign.

            The song itself began with his guitar strumming a bar before he cut in.

            “Listen?” Soul sang, followed by Star and Kilik leaning in to add “Do da do!”

            “Do you want to know a secret?” came Soul’s deep voice again, and another round of “do da do!”

            “Do you promise not to tell?” He leaned closer to the mic, but his eyes remained on the girl he was singing to, and all three belted out “whoooa whoa whoa!”

            The death scythe was smiling softly as he continued, and next to him, Kilik and Black*Star crooked beaconing fingers as Soul continued, every line followed by their response:

            “Closer.”

            “Do da do!”

            “Let me whisper in your ear.”

            “Do da do!”

            “Say the words you long to heaaaar.  I’m in love with you.  Wooo-oooo-ooo!  I’ve known the secret for a year or two,” again, Tsubaki smiled at the small change, “nobody knows, just we twoooo!”  Soul cut off and smiled sheepishly as he spoke into the mic for a second, reddening.  “And, well, maybe, sort of, all of Spartoi now, but uh,” he shook his head, his face scarlet, and started strumming again, “anyway,” another head shake and then he took up the song again, which just repeated itself through the chorus.  

Tsubaki found herself a little lost in the sweet silliness of it all.  It was really romantic, and she thought Maka must see it, too, and she smiled down at the whole spectacle happily as the song finally came to an end, Kilik and Black*Star’s arms slung around Soul a final time as they all looked up at the balcony.  Tsubaki looked over to Maka, wanting to see her reaction, but the spot where her friend had been standing only moments ago was empty and the shadow weapon heard a soft whump on the grass below where the meister had jumped from the balcony to land in a crouch, dress riding up her thighs at the motion, before she straightened and strode over to the van.  She looked up at her weapon, who was looking down at her, wide eyed.

            “Can we talk?” she was tapping a foot expectantly, one hand on her hip.

            “Uhhhh…” Soul said articulately as he shook his head, clearly not having planned this past the serenade.  Black*Star groaned “Awww, man!” and Kilik just shrugged helplessly.

            “Whatever.  Guess I’ll come to you,” she announced before making a running vault up the front of the van to land gracefully on top, the three guys having backed off to make room.

            “We’ll just uh, leave you two alone, then,” Kilik grinned between the two of them as he grabbed Black*Star and pulled him in a jump off the van.  The utility meister landed in a skilled crouch, but the assassin, caught off guard, hit the ground in a heap with a loud, “umph,” and then growled a low “what the fuck, man?” at Kilik, who shrugged again.  Tsubaki didn’t see anymore, however, because her eyes shot back to the top of the van, where Maka had slowly approached her scythe.  Soul took a nervous step backwards, his bravado quickly fading when faced with the object of his affections so _near._  Tsubaki saw that the scythe meister was frowning at her weapon, her fists clenched at her side.

            “Maka I, uh, I’m—“ He looked so unhappy, so defeated, that Tsubaki wanted to run down and hug him.  Why was Maka doing this?  Shouldn’t she be—

            “How long?” she said finally.

            “Huh?” Soul looked dumbfounded, looked like he wanted to escape, looked ready to curl up and die, and Tsubaki was equally confused by the question, equally upset by the outcome.

            “How long have you felt this way?” The meister repeated slowly, patiently, as if she were speaking to a small child.  Soul met his meister’s gaze, his cheeks dusted red, his hand rising to nervously scratch the back of his neck again.

            “Dunno.  Couple of years.”

            “A couple of _years?_ ” her voice was incredulous, almost outraged, and she took another step forward, backing him to the edge of the van.

            “Um, yes?  I just…” he trailed off and smiled nervously, a broken smile, as he shook his head.  They were speaking quietly enough that they would have been inaudible from the distance but for the mic picking up their voices.  For several moments, the meister said nothing.  Then, she took another step forward, standing directly before her weapon, and this time, he had no place to go.  Tsubaki noticed that her friend’s face had softened, and as Maka reached up a hand, Soul flinched back as if expecting her to strike him, but she only put her hand on his cheek softly, meeting his eyes.

            Maka took a deep breath and stroked his cheek as he leaned into her touch, his eyes closing at the contact.  Finally, she spoke again softly, so softly that the mic barely picked it up.

            “I love you too, idiot,” she said before removing her hand, holding it with her other hand in front of her and fidgeting slightly.  Tsubaki could tell that her friend was nervous and was proud of her—she knew how hard it had to have been to say that, to tell the truth instead of flying off the handle and running away.

          “R..really?”  A goofy, hopeful little smile lit on Soul's face and Maka returned the smile before laughing.  The mood lifted, lightened, and the shadow weapon felt her own lips turning up with her relief.

          “Why else would I put up with your drunk antics without chopping you?”

          “Hey, you like my drunk antics, admit it,” he grinned.  'Sides, yer the one who asked for it.”  

          “Nope,” Maka grinned back at him.  “That was Liz.  She swiped my phone.”    “Ohh…” he groaned suddenly, shaking his head.  “Sorry.”  

          “Don't be.  It was—sort of cute.

          “Cute?  You mean totally sexy, right?”  He grinned widely again, waggling his eyebrows.  

          His meister’s response was to punched him in the arm with a huff.  “Don't push your luck.  Nice outfit, by the way,” Maka swept her gaze up and down her partner with a snort.  “Really classy.”

          “Hey, it’s supposed to be cool,” he pouted.  

          “Supposed being operative,” she smiled fondly and shook her head.

          “But, uh, you look good.  Um, beautiful,” Soul said suddenly, his gaze sweeping her form as hers just had his a few moments ago.

          “Oh—um—thanks,” Maka went scarlet with the complement, causing her weapon to stretch his lips into his own fond smile.

          They both looked at each other after that for several moments, the awkwardness heavy in the air between them. Considering the half dozen odd people who stood as their audience, it was almost eerily quiet; everyone was clearly as eager as Tsubaki was to hear the drama play out.

          “So, uh, what now?”  Maka asked, fidgeting her hands again in her renewed nervousness.

“Uhhhh…” Soul seemed to think for a moment, his hazy brain working through her words, then grinned suddenly.  “I know!”  He offered another goofy grin and Maka raised a skeptical eyebrow.

          “Well?”

          “Just... This.”  He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers and Tsubaki gasped then grinned a bit goofily herself as she witnessed it all with sheer delight.  

          Maka appeared a bit stunned for an instant, but only an instant, before she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back.  He pulled her closer, and as what began as a chaste kiss got more heated, Black*Star whooped from somewhere below and the rest of Spartoi let out a cheer, causing the two on the van to break apart suddenly, each face flaming.

          Weapon and Meister looked at each other for a minute, some unspoken communication clearly passing between them, because a few moments later, Soul transformed into his Maka's waiting hand, she mounted his haft, and they sprouted wings.  Their flight was a little wobbly—Soul was still pretty drunk—but soon they disappeared into the night to another round of cheers and a scream of "get 'er done!" from Black*Star that caused Tsubaki to shake her head with an exasperated little smile.

          The shadow weapon did not cheer, but she did hug herself, her smile growing as she watched them fly away.  After all, in such a moment, they probably wanted to be alone, and really, they deserved to be.

            As others began to realize the show was over, the boys were dragged into the mansion and the slumber party became a celebration of the two who had left.  Not long after, as Tsubaki danced with her meister, she couldn’t help but to hope that her time would come soon as well, but for now, she was just happy for her friends, pleased to have witnessed such a silly and drunken, yet also sweet and perfect declaration of their love.

           

 

 

 

 


End file.
